


Continuous Thunder

by YFWE



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Gen, NaZoWriMo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8726131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YFWE/pseuds/YFWE
Summary: Nick Wilde might have gone his entire life without telling anyone how his father died. But these things, they come up sometimes. Especially when his killer may be back in Zootopia. An entry into Zootopia News Network's NaZoWriMo challenge!





	1. Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> All right, here’s the deal with this thing!
> 
> The good folks over at Zootopia News Network decided to run a challenge throughout November as part of National Novel Writing Month or NaNoWriMo, aptly named NaZoWriMo in this case, because of course it is. The prompt? Write a 50,000-word (at least) Zootopia fanfic in November, then post it at the end of the month/first day of December.
> 
> I sit here and think, “YEAH, SURE, WHY NOT?” And of course, I neglect that voice in the back of my mind that’s all, “Hey, stupid, you realize November is your busiest month at work, right?” I work in a field where year-end content is king, and that’s been my life for the past month, leaving very little time to write much of anything.
> 
> I tried anyway. Didn’t come close to finishing. But hey, I’m tossing it out there anyway – what’s done, that is. The rest (everything past chapter six) will come when everything calms the heck down around here.
> 
> And until then, I hope this story, as always, is Not The Worst!
> 
> Before we begin: I’ll probably toss a mention of the NaZoWriMo challenge’s final post once that’s up, because I think y’all should check out the work other writers put together for this thing; I suppose that would be up sometime in the coming days. ALSO, the initial opening scene of this story came from listening to Japandroids’ “The Nights of Wine and Roses” on an abusing-the-repeat-button basis (lol, fireworks!). Decided to pay homage to that by naming the story after something else off that phenomenal album.

The night everything changes, there are fireworks in the sky.

They sparkle, glisten, flicker every which way, stretching like umbrellas of brilliant multi-colored light over the city skyline.

Thunderous booms accompany each flash, rumbling and reverberating through every building, each edifice the city has mustered since its inception like continuous thunder. The ground shakes, the walls quake as though their structures might crumble at any moment, leaving broken rubble in their wake.

Residents come outside to watch. It is not every day Zootopia receives a show like this. The high-rising skyscrapers are enough, as are the lilting spotlights, the palm tree-like grand hotel, the glimmering harbor that creates its shores. There is often a fireworks display to commemorate the city's founding, the very day – or so it is claimed, though early records were often unpredictable and undependable, relying on guesswork more often than gruff, self-serious historians would prefer – predator and prey came together, joined appendages and decided, against tall odds, that they would try to make things work.

And oh, how these explosions in the nighttime sky surround them! On Zootopia Day, city officials set off a dazzling display in the harbor by Outback Island, with just one spot to which collective, sightseeing attentions need to be focused. But these fireworks, they are everywhere – Outback Island, Sahara Square, even near the looming, ominous mountains beyond the city. One can turn in a complete circle and never miss a moment of action.

_Boom! Crash! Hiss!_

Judy Hopps has only been up on the rooftop of the Grand Pangolin Arms, her apartment building, once before. It was an exploratory mission then; she, newly moved to Zootopia and marginally bored on a weekend during which she had no shift at the Zootopia Police Department, found the ladder on the top floor that led to the roof of the six-story building and clambered up, simply because she could.

She soon discovered that she was far from the only tenant who went up there, some with a fair amount of frequency on warm summer nights such as that one, when the sun had set after an arid day that saw fire hydrants across the town wrenched open to provide sweet watery relief in the streets everywhere from downtown to the Marshlands.

Tonight she expects herself to be far from the only occupant there, and she is right – the young, engaged-to-be-married otter couple upstairs sits atop a giant heavy-duty air conditioner, arms wrapped around each other in a delicate embrace at which Judy has to remind herself not to gawk. A middle-aged tiger with whom the rabbit has exchanged occasional niceties in the hallway or on the front stoop is there too, his legs dangling over the edge of the building, solemnly glancing up into the dark blue sky as the normally concealed clouds above them are highlighted like portentous wisps of smoke after each flash of light.

Briefly she wonders if he would like company, but leaves him to his reverie.

Soon she is like them, gaze toward the stars, taking in every crackle with charmed gratification as she takes her place on a brick ledge that leads into a long chute on one end – probably used for garbage, she thinks, but the smell, if so, is nonexistent.

She taps her phone and sends off a text to the fox. Join her, she says, if you can spend little enough time preening and spoiling your fur before the show is over.

He does not respond. Probably still in the shower.

That task complete, Judy's eyes are back on the fireworks and how they blanket the sky in a proud display of excess in the name of amusement. Briefly, her cop mind takes over and a dozen questions run through her mind – what was this celebrating? Did they file the proper permits? Who in the police department was undoubtedly supervising each firework-lit area right now, ensuring the safety of all?

"Judy," she whispers, waving a paw as though she is swatting away decidedly humorless thoughts about protocol and procedure that might otherwise envelop her. "Cool it."

As she is joined on the roof by a pair of zebra children who crane their necks to get a better look at the display, eyes wide with wonder and pointing out each and every magical detonation to each other, she feels her phone vibrate.

His only response? Three question marks.

She sighs. Nick Wilde has never been the most descriptive texter. But she considers it a fairly inconsequential flaw. Just occasionally irritating.

Judy is about to respond with some sort of a snarky response questioning the fox's ability to use context clues, but before she can type so much as one cry-laughing zoomoji, she hears him rustling up the ladder.

"Took you long enough, Slick," she greets him, swiveling her head to one side but not turning around completely, her ears listening for the approaching footsteps she knows very well to be the fox's; after all, her hearing is quite acute, and they have been partners on the force for a year now. "Not enough fluff in your—"

"Judy, what is this?"

Nick's tone is intensely serious, almost forcefully so, and it causes the bunny to consider him as he stands beside her: still dripping wet, a sleeveless, baggy white t-shirt pulled haphazardly over his body through which splotches of red can be seen as his soaked fur dampens the cloth, a pair of loose-fitting gym shorts that he only wears when he is planning on staying over. Not that Judy minds; his apartment is halfway across the city, and besides, she has a couch now.

Most of all, she notices his eyes: narrowed, almost unhinged, yet with another emotion she cannot quite pinpoint in that moment….

Oh, and he called her Judy. That was never a good sign.

"Nick," starts the rabbit, fumbling with her phone as she sets it off to the side and moves to stand. "What's – what's wrong?"

"Did you know about this?" He points into the sky, directly upward. Judy can see the explosions reflecting in his eyes, delicate bursts of light against the shiny whites of his eyes. "Did anyone? The ZPD? Is this something the city put on?"

And now she can tell the other sentiment held within his gaze: fear.

Nick Wilde, as far as she has been aware, does not scare easily. At least not in a way that elicits this response.

"I… I didn't," she sputters, her mouth agape as she reaches out a trembling paw. "And I don't know. I didn't hear a thing." Pausing, the bunny frowns. "Nick, this isn't like you. Is it… is it the fireworks?"

The fox rotates 360 degrees, one full turn as he glances around him into the sky, where the striking display continues.

"It is."

They stand in silence, save for the still-thundering booms that surround them, a sound Judy is now far less enamored with than she was before. Nick is breathing deeply – labored breaths, jagged, dazed. His usual self seems like a far-off memory, perhaps even an illusory construct.

"We have to go."

Judy places her paws on her hips. "Go… where?"

Their eyes lock. She is taken aback by the pleading look he gives her.

"Do you trust me?"

The bunny cannot say no to that. But even then –

She stamps her foot. "Nick, you can't just act like this without telling me what's going on. We need to…"

" _Do you trust me_?" he repeats, weightily, with the tiniest of cracks in his voice as he utters the final word.

"With my life."

It is not a lie. It is also not something she would rather have revealed in that moment. But it is true. She does, and it is something she has thought about often lately.

He takes her paw. It is warm against hers, though still a little wet.

"Then follow me."

As the fox and the rabbit shimmy down the ladder that leads back into the Grand Pangolin Arms, the fireworks crescendo into one enormous finale before concluding with one loud, final bang. There is a smell of roses in the air.


	2. The Tunnels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Wilde might have gone his entire life without telling anyone how his father died. But these things, they come up sometimes. Especially when his killer may be back in Zootopia. ZNN's NaZoWriMo challenge entry!

Judy Hopps has figured she would end up in the sewers of Zootopia at some point in her career as a police officer, but she did not expect it this way.

Which is to say, she did not expect to visit them under these circumstances, and she did not expect them to look like this.

Someone at work mentioned the city's underground once – it might have been Delgato, maybe Fangmeyer, she cannot quite recall. But it was in passing, and, as Chief Bogo once mentioned to her while outlining the different precincts that make up Zootopia, it is not an area into which police needs to travel often.

Certainly, despite well over a year now on the force, an assignment or chase involving the underground has not even cropped up.

Nick, on the other paw, knows the underground quite well.

They are racing through a dimly lit corridor, its walls sickly white like the cold, clammy, sterile detachment of a hospital. The fox still holds her paw as they run, vaulting down this side hallway or that, zigzagging toward one light and then hightailing it toward another at a moment's notice.

"These are service tunnels, mostly," Nick announces as they continue their gait. They are the first words he has spoken since they climbed through the sewer grate outside the Grand Pangolin Arms and, narrowly avoiding a torrent of rushing sewer water, shimmy inside a service door unscathed. There had been a password on the door, but Nick was immediately familiar with it.

She is not sure how he knew, so she asks: "The password on the keypad. How did you know?"

The fox flashes her a small grin – tinier than usual, but she will accept it. "C'mon, Carrots, we get an email from City Hall with the new password once a month. Do you not read those?"

Judy stays silent. She tends to not pay much attention to emails from the main city government listserv; if she needs to know about it, she has believed, Bogo will inform the staff, as he tends to.

"I used to just swipe these by spying on folks in the know when they weren't looking," he continues, turning ahead once more. "This is way easier. Giftwrapped."

The winding hallways with stretch for what seems like ages, doors occasionally appearing on a whim but mostly nondescript tiled walls – and few other mammals; they are definitely not taking any well-trodden paths.

"I'll explain more once we get to headquarters," says the fox, beginning to show his fatigue via somewhat labored breaths; he never had quite the endurance Judy possessed, that much had been true since their first training session together, though he had since made strides. "Which should be… soon."

That does not surprise the rabbit very much; part of her selection of the Grand Pangolin Arms had been its proximity to the ZPD's downtown police station to which she had been assigned. And they have been running for quite some time now. As long as Nick has not been leading them in the wrong direction – and she highly doubts that – they would be there soon.

"Where does this place let into the station?" she asks.

"There's a door by the boiler."

"Huh. Didn't realize there was another door down there."

"You never looked, did you?"

She had not.

With little warning, Nick skids to a halt in front of one door, which Judy now sees is clearly labeled: ZPD Precinct One. She assumes the other doors had similar markings announcing their contents – it would only make sense – but she had been moving so rapidly, they must have been nothing more than bluish blurs against an unfamiliar, droning terrain.

Nick lets go of Judy's paw and wipes his forehead, the fur there now damp from sweat rather than the residue of shower water and soap. She notices now that he is still wearing nothing more than his sleeveless tee and gym shorts, though the bulge in his pocket suggests he had the foresight to bring along his badge.

"A little underdressed for work, don't you think?" she jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

"Ha ha," the fox pants, stretching the shirt down over his shorts and grinning. "As if Bogo needs another reason to try and write me up."

"He'll have even more if you're as vague with him as you are with me."

Nick stares at Judy for a moment, considers her words, and shakes his head, his ears drooping close to his head. "You're right," he sighs. "Got ahead of myself. You deserve to know."

He straightens to his full height, paws outstretched as though that might lessen the blow about what he is about to say.

"Well, first off," he begins, delicately, grimacing a little as he says it, "we're only here for my tranquilizer gun. I suggest you get yours too."

He pauses. "And then… I hear Bunnyburrow is nice this time of year, and I know a shortcut through these tunnels."

Before she can protest, the door flings open, and there is Bogo himself, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, snorting heavily as though he has hurried the whole way there from his second-floor office.

He looks at the comically underdressed fox, presently chattering his teeth in the heavily air-conditioned hallway underneath the city, then to the rabbit, herself donning a loose-fitting Gazelle t-shirt and jean shorts (she is momentarily embarrassed at her lack of class in front of her commanding officer, but she reminds herself she is not on the clock – and besides, she always carries her badge), then back to the fox, whose shivering has picked up its pace.

"Well," booms the buffalo, "this should be good."

xXxXxXx

The ZPD is abuzz with activity, more so than Judy has ever seen on a Saturday night. There are cops there she does not even recognize – and not because they are on the night shift, because she has made it a point to learn names and faces of those assigned to the precinct, regardless of shift. These are, she decides, officers from other parts of the city entirely.

That is the scene outside Chief Bogo's office. Inside, Judy watches with fixated interest, her large ears perked up as she listens for the vaguest of conversations and chatter she can hear from the second floor. Bogo is not there right now, having had to receive and briefly entertain Chief Rhinhart from the second precinct, who has asked for an audience but will not get one fully until the buffalo deals with two of his officers first. She can hear him coming up the stairs.

"Nick, he's coming back."

The fox is not sitting like Judy. He is staring, almost absentmindedly, at a portrait in the corner of the room of a ribbon cutting ceremony that appears to be at least two decades old. Bogo is there, but another officer, decked out in the usual uniform of a police chief, holds the comically large scissors. Must have been his predecessor.

"Nick."

He snaps out of his daze and whirls around.

"Goody." He remains in the corner of the room rather than joining Judy, who sits in a chair directly in front of the buffalo's desk.

Bogo enters, closing the door swiftly behind him. The din outside is muffled as a result, but it is still there, teeming behind the wood that blocks them from it, and the buffalo seems keenly aware of the fact that he will have to re-enter the fray very soon.

But first…

"I'll cut to the chase," the chief says, taking off his glasses, folding them in his hand and leering down at the rabbit and the fox. He does not take a seat behind his desk as he normally might. "Wilde, are you listening to me?"

"You're clear as a bell, sir." Nick has not been fully attentive, his gaze wandering back to the photos on the wall, but he faces forward now.

"Good. Now, would one of you care to explain why I received a call from our security team tonight informing me that two of our officers, both underdressed due to matters I struggle to care about, are outside the door to the underground, on a night like this?"

"Sir, I—" Judy starts.

"I forgot some paperwork," Nick cuts across her with a laugh. "Clumsy me. You're always saying how I don't get enough of it done, so I thought to myself, 'Hey, what if I took some home, got a few days ahead? Wouldn't that impress Dad?'"

Bogo grunts. "Stop referring to me as your father, Wilde, that joke got old weeks ago."

"It's how I get through the day."

"But," continues Bogo, "even still. What tipped you off? A fireworks display surrounding the entire city?"

"Well, you know me, when I get in that festive spirit I just _have_ to… fill out things." Even Nick's snark is not at the top of its game tonight.

"And further, why take the tunnels? Surely that's not the fastest way here, else Hopps would use them every morning."

The buffalo runs a hoof over his chin contemplatively, looking back and forth at the pair of officers. "The thing that gives me pause is this, you two: did you know anything about what happened out there tonight?"

"It's a… fireworks display, sir," answers Judy, shrugging. "Someone decided to celebrate something? Really, though, I'm just along for the ride, Nick—"

"…so none of you knew it was coming, did you?" Nick asks gravely, folding his arms across his chest.

"A gigantic fireworks show that surrounds the city, quite frankly puts some areas in danger due to the proximity – and not a clue of how they got there or why they were set off – and with no suspects currently apprehended, because the blast areas were completely empty by the time any officers could react." He sneers, bending down closer to the fox's height. "No, Wilde. We didn't know, and I would have chalked it up to a bunch of hooligans with too much time on their hands, but this kind of organization doesn't add up."

He points a hoof at Nick's face, just inches away from his snout. "And when two of my officers suddenly appear, underground, on their night off, _clearly_ in a rush," he thunders, "it causes me to wonder what _they_ know about this."

The buffalo straightens back to his full height. "So spill it. Why are you here?"

Nick steels himself, paws clenched into fists, eyes closed in a rare sight of discomfiture. He breathes in deeply before settling. Judy watches him with a hint of concern.

"Because I think I know who did it."

"Oh?" Bogo's glare softens tenuously.

"Yeah." The fox's eyes open. "And if I'm right, I didn't wanna stick around in this city to find out for sure."


	3. The Icewolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Wilde might have gone his entire life without telling anyone how his father died. But these things, they come up sometimes. Especially when his killer may be back in Zootopia. ZNN's NaZoWriMo challenge entry!

Benjamin Clawhauser did not expect to have to come into work today – or for another two days, for that matter.

And that was fine; there are other dispatchers on the squad, some who, he thinks, might actually do the job better than he does, but the cheetah prides himself on one thing they cannot match: personability.

It is coming in handy right now. There is an influx of visitors at the station, more than the old building has probably seen during its evening hours in quite some time. A few officers he recognizes from the other precincts have not been to the station downtown – admittedly the largest by far but still not a common pilgrimage outside of those assigned to it – in a while if ever, and if there is a time the department needs a friendly face directly inside its front doors, it is this evening.

Plus, Judy Hopps is there too, and she could use a soul to talk to, especially one who has no trouble carrying on mind-distracting conversation.

"Hello there! The chief is in the bullpen right now. He'll see you soon," Clawhauser says, greeting an entering elephant who is higher up in the hierarchy of Sahara Square's main precinct. The cheetah turns to Judy, sighing. "Whew. Wasn't expecting _this_ much interaction, even on my part. Need sleep like the dickens." He frowns, noticing the bunny's sullen look. "You OK?"

The bunny sighs, crossing one foot over the other as she leans against the front counter of Clawhauser's central desk, facing away from and dourly glancing out over the area of the station stretching to the front door. Officers file in and out of the entrance, and she watches each one with an air of vague interest, mostly to pass the time. She has found a hoodie in her work locker, and she has pulled it over her Gazelle t-shirt, despite the warm summer night that awaits her outside. It is a ZPD-logoed sweatshirt she purchased as part of a charity drive a year ago but has never actually worn before now.

"This whole thing," she groans quietly, "it's just… a little much."

"At least you have answers," notes the cheetah, resting his chin in his paws as he leans over the counter. "Chief still hasn't told me why I'm here. No one has." He glances out the front windows. "I just saw the fireworks. Smelled the roses after. But I didn't expect anything…" he grimaces, "…bad."

Judy, to be fair, had not either, even up to the point when Nick dragged her to the underground door leading to the alternate station entrance. Sure, he had been hilariously vague and ominous up to that point, but maybe things were not as bad as he put on. The fox had his moments of overreaction, that was for sure.

But she most certainly had not expected the story he told next.

xXxXxXx

Had Nick Wilde expected for his visit to the police station to come to this?

No. No, he had not.

In his year on the force, the fox had spoken in front of a group of his peers this large exactly zero times, and had hoped it would stay that way his entire career. Sure, he had aspirations of potentially climbing from his current junior officer rank to something more, but he kind of always assumed Judy would take the reins on much of the presentation aspects of the job while he laid back, gave her a thumb's up and otherwise did what he needed to do to get by.

Instead, Nick presently stands at the head of the bullpen where Chief Bogo normally conducts morning briefings, with the buffalo beside him but only offering occasional insight. It is Nick's floor otherwise, and he has it in front of a packed house of some of his own peers, plus a few on a much higher level of the ZPD than he has ever dreamed of attaining.

And all because of one childhood memory – though to be fair, it is quite the imperative memory.

Because it is the last time he saw his father alive.

A giraffe, one of the elder members of the ZPD currently in the room and, Nick assumes, comparable to Bogo's age, raises a hoof from where he sits at one of the front tables inside the bullpen.

"Yes, Captain Geoffers?" Bogo says plainly.

"So," the giraffe responds, unbending his neck to its full height, "you're telling us that what happened tonight, in no uncertain terms, is a sign that Roscoe Lawson, who has been AWOL for two decades, is back in Zootopia and has a bone to pick with us?"

Nick swallows before answering, inattentively smoothing the slightly-too-big khakis he has had in his work locker for the better part of a year. He still dons the sleeveless t-shirt, but he figures there are worse places to wear one than a police station. "Well, I don't know that. I don't know what he'd want. I only know what he told me all those years ago."

"I hardly think all that outside was for your sake, Officer."

"No, no, I agree. That's what I'm saying."

Roscoe Lawson, Nick had explained with as much detail as he could muster, was a former crime lord of Zootopia with a line of influence in the city as murky as Mr. Big's. After all, he had been the owner of Lawson's Fine Foods, a supermarket chain in Zootopia and its suburbs that, for all intents and purposes, seemed like an upstanding business – which is because it was.

However, Lawson's family had used the social influence gained from the once-modest family business to gain certain footholds in the city that put it toe to toe with an array of unsavory citizens throughout the city, be it via drug trafficking of rare, sought-after hallucinogens or a steady undercurrent of under-the-table meats provided to predators that were willing to pay a high enough price to satisfy their animalistic urges. Roscoe Lawson oversaw the latter rather than attend college, and once his parents either passed on or grew too old to continue in the day-to-day operations of the grocery chain, he was first in line to take over the family business – but the shady practices withstood the shift to legal business responsibilities, and before long, the Lawson name became synonymous in the city's underground with the type of family with whom one did not want to meddle.

Surely a cop worth their salary and then some could eventually take down that kind of crime, though, right? Well, there was one other thing.

"I'm going to tell you what I know, even though I'm sure some of you do by now," Nick announces, glancing over the room, which is filled to the brim with a variety of officers, some of whom stand around the exterior, many returning his glance with focused intent. "It's pretty well known nowadays that the Lawsons, especially Roscoe, were bad news. But at the time, they had enough friends around the city – City Hall, here at the ZPD," he waves a paw around the room, "everywhere. They didn't have to worry about getting caught, because no one was going to _attempt_ to catch them. Being one of Zootopia's biggest charitable donors will do that."

"He's right," a gruff-voiced arctic wolf toward the rear of the room chimes in. "I was close to a bust on the meat-smuggling ring almost 30 years ago, back when I was new on the force. I upped it to my superiors at the time; I was stationed in the Rainforest District, Chief Crocton was my commanding officer." The wolf balls his paw into a fist and smacks the table. "I upped it to my superiors, and I was taken off the case and told the higher-ups would handle it." He grunts. "They never did."

"And how do _you_ know about Lawson's criminal past?" Geoffers asks the fox, swiveling his head after listening intently to the wolf's recounting.

Nick shrugs and puts on the showiest smirk he can muster. "I worked for guys like Lawson," he says plainly, "before I came to the ZPD. Mammals talk."

He does not mention John Wilde.

"When I was a kid," continues the fox, barely missing a beat, "I was… I was on the streets a lot, y'know? Had a family, had a home, but I preferred being out there, in the thick of things. That's where I met Roscoe Lawson the last time he was in Zootopia… or as far as I know.

"I was out with a friend of mine, we used to bum around at night – kid stuff, whatever. We're in our usual hangout spot, this alleyway off the Hill Street station exit on the subway, when we ear this ruckus nearby. Someone yells out – some fox, I think, I dunno. He was wearing this old-fashioned trenchcoat, like he was a spy or a private investigator or something. And oh, he's dead. Super dead.

"Lawson killed him," Nick says, putting his paws in his pockets and looking up at the ceiling tiles. "He held the knife that did it. And he takes one look at my friend and I – I thought we were goners when he spotted us, but no, he just says one thing and then disappears back down the alleyway. He looks right at us, and he says, 'You kids like fireworks? Because remember the day they're practically streamin' out of the sewer grates every square inch of the city. 'Cause that's when Roscoe Lawson's back to claim what's his.'"

He takes his paws back out of his pockets and spreads his arms in a wide shrug. "Cheesy, if you ask me, but I never forgot it. And here we are now."

"Right after he disappeared was when all the allegations came forth," the wolf in the back of the room adds. "I remember that. I'd wager that fox you saw knew 'em already and was close to taking him in."

Chief Bogo steps forward, resting a hoof on Nick's shoulder – a gesture the fox is quite surprised to experience, but he figures the buffalo is putting on his best face in front of his fellow chiefs and commanders rather than letting his usual air of exasperation with the junior officer overtake him.

"Thank you, Officer Wilde." The buffalo slowly glances around the room, ensuring he has the undivided attention of the whole attending force before proceeding. "Should this be true – and I think we all agree that the argument that Lawson is behind this is quite strong – then now is the time for a plan of action. We're all now aware, many years after the fact, what this mammal was capable of, both by himself and with those in his personal command. Whatever that hyena is looking to do to this city, whatever the scale, we need to find our way to him before anything else sneaks under our noses like it did tonight.

"Which is why all of you have gathered here; I know it's quaint, but until Lionheart sends one cent our way, it's the biggest conference room in the department we've got."

There is a ripple of slight laughter across the room. Nick looks around, stunned; Bogo actually got someone to laugh – and with something that was barely even a joke, no less.

The buffalo walks slowly to the door to the bullpen, which has remained shut the entire meeting. "As the seniormost in this department, I shall now request," he lays a hoof on the doorknob and turns the lock, "that we figure out a plan on how best to tackle this – and that no one leave until we do."

Nick sighs. If only he had used the bathroom at Judy's.

xXxXxXx

"So what do you think the roses were all about?"

Judy looks up at Clawhauser, who has finally spoken after a few minutes of silence between the two of them as they sit behind the precinct's front desk. The rabbit is not supposed to be back there, really, but it happens to have one of the comfier chairs in the station – and Bogo certainly is not there to stop her, anyway.

"Calling card, I think Nick said." The bunny rubs her eyes, sitting up. She had quite nearly dozed off amid homely black leather.

"Ah."

"I guess Lawson always smelled that way, or something. And the family stores had bunches of roses around the store." She stretches her paws over her head, continuing once she hears a satisfying crack in her left elbow. "I read sometime – at the academy, I think – that the rumor was they did that to hide the smell of the illegal meat in their cellars."

Grimacing, the cheetah turns up his nose. "Grrooooooss. Where'd they even get it from?"

"Don't know if they ever found out."

Clawhauser shakes his paws disgustedly. "Yeesh. Can't think about it too much." A click behind him diverts his attention, and he watches the bullpen door creak open and its occupants begin to file out. His ears perk up. "Oh! Finally, they're done."

Judy raises her head, which has previously been resting in her paws against the front desk, and immediately searches for her partner. She sees a flash of red in between the legs of a pair of briskly walking lions and leaps over the counter and onto the floor.

"There you are. I thought they'd never let out."

The fox shoots her a toothy grin. "Miss me?"

Judy waves her paws dismissively. "You kidding? I just need you so I can figure out what the heck just happened in there."

Shrugging, Nick leaps onto the counter by Clawhauser and sits on its ledge, Judy stopping at his dangling feet, paws resting on her hips. "Not much you haven't already heard, Carrots," he says, shaking his head. "Oh, and when we get into work tomorrow, we'll get briefed on it, but our little dynamic duo is about to get a tad crowded."

The rabbit's ears droop. "Uh… what?"

"Officer Wilde."

Judy's further questioning is stalled in its tracks by a voice to her right, Nick's left. They and Clawhauser turn; the older arctic wolf from Bogo's briefing, who had backed up some of the fox's claims about Roscoe Lawson, is walking up to them, slowly but surely. He is joined by a buff tiger, still wearing his uniform's hat despite most others having taken theirs off inside. The tiger does not speak, but his eyes search Judy and Clawhauser fixedly.

"Captain Colston," the cheetah effervescently greets the wolf, standing. "Good to see you again!"

The wolf smiles politely. "Benjamin. Please call me Artie. Surely we're on a first-name basis after all these years."

Noting Judy standing nearby, he bends over slightly and extends a paw. "Captain Artie Colston, precinct four – Tundratown, mostly." She takes his paw lightly in hers; she is surprised at its frigidity. "You must be Officer Hopps."

"S-sir," the rabbit stutters, her eyes wide. "Sorry, I'm flattered that the Icewolf knows who I am."

Colston chuckles, as does Nick. "OK, Carrots, you gotta stop being surprised when your co-workers know the bunny who helped save the city from the Night Howlers," the fox snickers. "Also… Icewolf? If that ain't a little on the nose…"

"It's a silly nickname, I agree," the wolf says, letting go of Judy's paw and straightening his back. "It's because I didn't miss a day of work for 25 years – no vacation, no nothing. The fact that I'm an arctic wolf who works in Tundratown was just icing on the cake for them."

"I aspire to break your record, Commander, I hope you know that," says Judy, positively starstruck.

"Ah, Fluff, aren't you just full of surprises," Nick teases. She ignores him.

Smiling genially, Colston nods to Judy. "Well, best of luck to you. Send me a postcard indicating your success once you reach it; I'll be long retired to the islands by then, with any luck." Snapping his fingers, he turns to Nick. "I appreciate your show in there, Officer. I don't know if I'd've associated the fireworks with Lawson if you hadn't offered the information. Though," he sniffs the air, as though the smell would still somehow be lingering, "the roses might have been a giveaway."

"Well, sir, I try to put in work worth my paycheck on occasion," retorts the fox, leaning back on his elbows atop the counter. "Now they'll be forced to keep me around another six months at minimum."

He glances over at Judy, who is still glaring at him expectantly, and quickly recalls where their conversation had previously left off.

"Oh, and it'll be an honor to work with a member of your team for a few days while we get to the bottom of this. I was just telling ol' Carrots here about it."

"Between you and me," the wolf folds his arms behind his back and leans forward, closer to Nick and Judy, eyes scanning the room momentarily before continuing, "I had a hunch we'd be joining forces across the department. I wanted to ensure my best was grouped with Bogo's best – he and I, we go back, you know – and I can think of no one better than the pair that tossed Bellwether behind bars."

Judy cuts to the chase. "Who're we working with?"

"His name's Wolfie – well, I think it's actually Glenn or something, but heck if I know for sure, that's all anyone at the station has called him since he got there, and it's my secretary's job to keep track of their real names, in my humble opinion." He nods to himself. "But Wolfie, he's good. Great nose for this sort of thing. You'll like him."

"Quite the co-sign," Judy remarks, noting internally that of course a wolf would say that about another.

"Eh, he's at least better to talk to than ol' Tigoro here," he points a paw at the tiger who still looms behind him with a face of stone. "Sometimes I think he still resents me for insisting he was assigned to Tundratown. Still isn't completely used to the cold, eh, bud?" He jabs the tiger in the ribs. The big cat does not flinch.

"It's late, sir. Shall we head back?" are his only words.

Colston pulls up his coat sleeve and checks his wristwatch. "I suppose so. Bright 'n' early start tomorrow, gotta find some big-time meat smuggler before he finds us." He sends a two-finger salute to Clawhauser, who regards him briefly but has shifted to a conversation with the dispatcher from one of Sahara Square's precincts who was sent as one of its representatives that evening, and grins at Nick and Judy, white teeth positively shining in the well-lit foyer. "I'll be letting Wolfie know he'll be working with you tomorrow morning. Expect him around here before 8, I'd wager. He's a bit of a morning person, that one."

Affording the pair the same salute as he gave the cheetah, Colston turns on his heel and exits toward the front door. Tigoro offers a curt nod and a hardened stare before following suit.

Judy leans against the front counter, crossing her arms as she and her partner watch them leave. "I still can't believe the Icewolf knows who I am," she finally blurts out with an infectious grin, punching Nick's dangling left leg. "And we get to work with one of his best officers. I'm super excited to tackle this."

"Hrm." Nick's slightly sunnier disposition he has worn for the last while in the presence of the other officers has receded. "Glad someone is."

The rabbit's ears droop and she touches a paw to the fox's leg, looking up. "Nick. C'mon, we talked about this in Bogo's office. I know you're scared – you saw this guy kill someone, that must have been traumatic as a kit – but the entire ZPD has some of its best officers working this starting tomorrow. And Lawson certainly isn't going to remember you."

Nick grimaces, clicking his tongue. "Right, yeah," he mutters, leaping down from the counter and leaning against it himself alongside Judy. "Except… that story I told Bogo isn't exactly what happened."

"Oh, sweet cheese and crackers," Judy groans.


	4. Positively Immortal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Wilde might have gone his entire life without telling anyone how his father died. But these things, they come up sometimes. Especially when his killer may be back in Zootopia. ZNN's NaZoWriMo challenge entry!

Even though Nick Wilde wanted to take the underground tunnels back to Judy Hopps' apartment, the rabbit is not having anything of it. They will fight, she says, above ground, where the rest of Zootopia can hear how pissed off she is.

It is not Nick's ideal situation, but he realizes he probably should have expected it. The bunny is nothing if not headstrong, and occasionally that can lead her to some brash decisions, like potentially revealing top secret police business to the entire city at 1 in the morning.

Luckily, he is a master of deflection – or so he likes to think.

_Just get back to her place. She'll be too tired to argue anymore and we'll talk in the morning. Actually talk. No yelling._

For now…

"And what about Bogo? If he finds out you've been holding out on him this entire time, he's going to think I was in on it too, and… and… you dumb fox, I just, _ugh!_ "

To be fair, Nick had not wanted to lie to Judy; he would have told her the entire true story either down by the underground entrance to the precinct or on their way out of the city afterward. No games, not a hint of the random dead fox story he just _happened_ to stumble upon. The truth, nothing but the truth.

He knows she would do the same for him, after all.

"It's just a little white lie," the fox moans, rounding a corner with the rabbit still hot on his tail; he can practically feel the heat of her anger radiating off her. "Honest. The end result is the same: Lawson told me he'd be back one day, and this is how he was going to announce his big comeback."

"Oh, so we're using the word _honest_ now, isn't that rich?!"

"Carrots, can this _please_ wait until we're home? It's late."

She folds her arms as she stews beside him. "So you're still staying at my place."

"Well, yes, unless you'd like me to commute halfway across town at 1 in the morning."

"Poor thing."

"…which, even then, I'd still have to come upstairs and grab my uniform."

She groans. "Ugh, _fine_ , you can stay, but you're sleeping on the couch."

"I always sleep on the couch, hon." Well, except that time the building's heat was broken, but that proved a relatively awkward experience about which they did not speak for weeks.

The remainder of the walk is soundtracked by the rabbit's occasional outbursts of disbelief, which the fox is able to quell quite handily. He is beginning to think he may have to tell the whole story tonight after all; Judy does not seem to be relinquishing her vicelike grip on consciousness, despite Nick's body's protests to the contrary.

But once inside, fatigue either finally takes hold or she is too miffed to deal with him, and she opts to remove the work hoodie, slip out of her jean shorts and into pajamas – all in front of Nick without seemingly a care in the world, which he chalks up to her simmering anger as this is not a normal occurrence – and crawls into bed without another word.

Nick's attempts at sleep are somewhat thwarted by the lack of a blanket – he cannot locate whichever one he normally uses when he stays over – but decides that if it is the worst thing to happen to him that evening, he has had rougher nights in his life, all things considered.

He lays awake for some time, head resting in reclining paws, tracing cracks in the ceiling as he thinks about his dad.

xXxXxXx

From his vantage point, Zootopia is a brilliant white glob in the distance, a shining, teeming city of activity despite the late hour.

It is the first time he has seen it in many years, and he has not expected its swift automation and defined boom in skyscrapers and sheer glow, even though he has seen postcards of the view from the side opposite him, near the port, for decades.

However, the hyena's expression, bright and tooth-filled in the moonlight, turns sour when he considers a few of the taller buildings, particularly the logos that adorn their sides – Zoogle, Preyda, Mousy's.

His family business should have been right there with them. One of the skyscrapers should practically have been giftwrapped for him – and free of charge, of course, given his many charitable donations to Zootopia over the years; it was only fair.

But Roscoe Lawson had instead been reduced to nothing, his family name dying out as soon as that pesky syndicate finally revealed him for what he was, with the members of the ZPD he could not quite hold under his sway not far behind them.

He heard Trader Doe's had bought up most of his stores. Weak, absolutely weak. Joe Coltombe is nothing more than swine – no, no, saying that did a disservice to pigs everywhere.

"Doesn't matter," he growls softly under his breath. "They'll be the first to go when I'm back in town." He runs a claw over the handle of something in his waistband that is almost certainly quite sharp beyond its wooden grip.

"Sir." A grainy voice speaks behind him, one Lawson has been expecting.

"Yes. Go." The hyena keeps his gaze on the city he can see quite clearly from the mountain range that rises up in the distance beyond Zootopia.

"I trust you enjoyed the show."

"Breathtaking. Quite the knack for pyrotechnics."

"All operatives are accounted for and those who should be outside the city indeed are. It would appear the attempt at fitting the final display with a rose-scented smoke has succeeded, too."

Lawson smiles. "Isn't that nice?"

"I thought so. Any other requests before we head out?"

Pulling his black pea jacket tightly over his shoulders, the hyena turns to face his visitor for the first time that evening and grins. "No, no, I think that'll be enough. It's cold up here, anyway." He glances up at the stars, considering their current placement. "And you and your team will have places to be in the morning."

"Yessir. I'll accompany you home."

The hyena affords himself one last look over the city, glancing back over his shoulder. "What's been mine," he breathes, "will be mine once more."

He lets out a small cackle for old time's sake.

xXxXxXx

"I'm still mad at you."

Nick cocks his head after he pulls his police jacket over it, the friction rustling the fur on the sides of his ears. "You don't say."

"Yeah," Judy says shortly, tapping her foot impatiently as she waits by the door for the hopelessly tardy fox, already decked out in her full attire save for the hat. "But I'm bottling it up inside instead."

"Oh, are you?"

"So our new temporary partner doesn't get the wrong impression of either of us."

"Well, I'm glad you're thinking ahead, Carrots. You seem completely normal."

"Thanks," she says through gritted teeth. The tapping intensifies.

The fox checks his phone for the time. "But by my count," he notes, sliding open his welcome screen, "we still have an hour before we need to be in. So how about you come sit down, cool off a little bit and let me fill you in on what we're very unfortunately up against. Huh? How's that sound?"

"Oh, good. I wonder which parts of the truth you'll stretch this time."

"None of it." He raises a paw. "Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout."

"Low."

Nick is not sure if she is actually interested in what he has to say or is simply worn down from an evening, and now morning, of arguing, but Judy takes a seat on the edge of her bed, glowering at the fox who continues to pull on his newly ironed uniform. "Talk," she states pointedly.

He does not begin immediately; Nick wrestles with his pants buckle instead, something that has given him trouble ever since he joined the force – shoddy craftsmanship due to having little practice making uniforms that small, he has wagered, though Judy has argued that it is simply a dud and he should turn them in. He has not, since it is far more rewarding to complain about these things.

But once he is situated, he sighs, shutting his eyes tight for a few moments before looking at his partner. "What do you want to hear first?"

Judy rolls her eyes. "How about you start by telling me what was fake," she mutters. "That work for you?"

"Great. I can work with that." He rubs a paw against his chin, straining to remember every facet of his story to Bogo and, subsequently, the ZPD. "I didn't learn about Lawson's criminal past by working for guys like him, even though I did work for guys like him. I didn't meet him while playing with a friend in some alleyway in downtown. He didn't kill some random private investigator or spy or whatever the heck I said it was. And that speech he gave me? Paraphrased."

Nonchalantly, he leans back on the couch, reclining his paws behind his head and propping a foot against his knee. "Y'know," he says thoughtfully, "by my estimation, probably 70 percent of what I said was the truth. That's a passing grade, Carrots. If I can get one of my parents to sign the test and bring it back to you during homeroom tomorrow, will that be enou—"

"You left out some important stuff, Slick," Judy cuts him off, grumbling. "And it's probably more important than I can even imagine, because I still can't figure out why you'd lie to Bogo."

"Defense mechanism, mostly. Can't let the rat race know too much about ya, right? Apologies to rats everywhere."

"Does this somehow lead to another scenario where you owe even more taxes to this city than you already technically do?"

"…don't even joke about that…"

The rabbit buries her head in her paws. "Then quit lollygagging and just tell me what happened!"

"Fine. Roscoe Lawson killed my dad."

Judy blinks. The world is quiet now – the sounds outside her apartment signaling another morning in Zootopia suddenly far away, muted, as though the cacophonous car horns have somehow been torn out of every vehicle in the city, the bustle of residents and tourists alike below her window miniscule and underwhelming.

Nick has rarely spoken about John Wilde, his father. Judy knew he had passed when Nick was still young. She is aware of a few fond memories the fox has of his old man. There is nothing more, and she has never pressed the issue.

"Nick, I…" Her expression has softened considerably.

He holds up a paw that signals her to stop talking, which she does. He shakes his head. "There's more to this," he continues, the look on his face suddenly quite grave. "Because you don't know why he killed my dad. And Carrots," his eyes dart around the room, resting briefly on her unit window before speaking again in a low tone, "you have to understand that this isn't the kind of information I'd just give up to anyone. Heck, Finnick doesn't even know."

Judy nods, neglecting to say a word.

"But I trust you," says the fox, closing his eyes again and massaging his forehead, "and you trust me. We're partners. No secrets."

He bends over, resting his elbows on his knees, the rest of his arms dangling to his fee with his back hunched. He looks up at the rabbit and gives her a reassuring grin. "Don't worry," he asserts with a shrug. "I'm not about to tell you that my dad was wrapped up in all this crime lord stuff too or that he smuggled drugs for Lawson or something. On the contrary; he was the guy who was trying to put a stop to it."

"Wait…" Judy says, thinking back. "So, look, wait. When you told Bogo you thought Lawson killed some spy or private investigator or something…"

"That was the truth," Nick nods, flashing a toothy grin. "I just didn't say it was John Wilde who was doing the investigating."

After taking in Judy's somewhat awestruck silence, Nick presses on: "The corruption in Zootopia back then? Totally real. Lawson paid off everyone to keep hush-hush about his illegal practices – City Hall, the ZPD, you name it. And he wasn't the only one either; if you conducted organized crime in the city back then, chances were you had no problem getting away with it. Heck, you probably had half the police department on your payroll in the process.

"A couple of citizens figured the whole thing out. Some were former cops with stories from the inside, others just p.o.'d everymammals who didn't want to see their utopia get sunk by a few greedy animals in positions of power. So what do they do? Start their own private, unofficial, underground investigation collective. Stick a meeting place on Baker Street, figure out the shady practices in the city and who's doing them, decide to take 'em out."

"And… your dad was a part of this?" Judy asks.

"Very." Nick crosses his arms. "Tailor by day, but in the evenings, he was all over this joint, Carrots, taking out the trash the ZPD was never going to flush down the toilet. Conned his way into making some friends up in City Hall, too – made some inroads there for the group, figured out the folks who were privy to the corruption but not directly benefiting from it and willing to play informant." He outstretches a paw, framing a sign in the air before him. "The Night Rangers. That's what they called themselves."

Judy is incredulous. "I've never heard of them," she exclaims in disbelief. "Not one mention in the city history books! The Night Rangers. They were called the Night Rangers?"

"You haven't heard of them because they didn't want to be discovered, Carrots. Simple as that. They weren't masked vigilantes or something, but these guys and gals, they had jobs, families, that sort of thing. Dad had me and mom, plus the store. And they weren't doing it for the praise, either – they just wanted justice, y'know? Something the elected officials at that time weren't too keen on."

He swallows and then continues. "Long story short, my dad uncovers the meat trade Lawson is doing. Not just that, but Lawson is _in_ on it, Fluff, I mean, all the way – he's saving plenty of scraps for himself, which is very much the opposite of what he's been feeding the public in his commercials about adoring the taste of the greens and produce in his grocery stores. And Dad also figures out that the guy's goons have been whacking all kinds of mammals who pick up the scent a little too much – literally, sometimes, because the guy just had this ginormous smell of roses on him everywhere he went, probably something to do with handling all that raw meat.

"But…" he pauses for a beat, "just like Lawson found everyone else who was ever on his tail, he figured out that Dad was flying a little too close to the sun too. So he…" His voice hangs.

Judy has been looking for a reason to jump down from the bed and console the fox, but she has been waiting for the right moment. There it is now, she realizes; Nick, clutching the edges of the couch with his paws so tightly she can see the outline of the bones within them as prominently as ever before, has reached a rare impasse.

He does not expect the nuzzle of her head against his shoulder, nor her paws grasping in a tight, gripping hold around his arm, as she joins him on the couch. Her warmth is intoxicating, calming, reassuring, a light at the end of the tunnel, and only then does he realize how much he regrets the bunny having been away from him on the bed prior to now, talk or no talk.

When she looks up at Nick, he notices the slightest watering of her eyes, glistening against her irises, and the fox, momentarily strengthened, presses on.

"It was… it was a week after my birthday," Nick says, his speech wobbly but still lucid. "My dad had been to every newspaper in the city at this point, tipping them off with a story he knew would be worth their while about one of Zootopia's golden boys. I think the _Times_ was looking to go live a few days later – and they eventually did, once the dust settled. But anyway, that night…" he relocates the cracks in the ceiling he had traced the night before, "that night there was no Night Rangers business, no nothing. We were on our way home from his store – I helped sometimes in there, no, don't give me that look, it's true – and about to enjoy a relaxing evening at home.

"He realized we were being followed long before I ever could've. Silly in retrospect; the limo had been tailing us for at least two blocks, I would have sniffed it out in a heartbeat these days. Dad and I duck into an alley – by the Hill Street station, like I said – with the hopes we'd lose 'em." He shakes his head. "Turns out that's exactly what they _wanted_ us to do; there was another limo waiting farther into the alley."

Nick sighs heavily. "Dad told me to duck behind a dumpster – did it before Lawson even stepped out. I did that, but in doing so I… I couldn't see them, Judy. I couldn't see Dad and I couldn't see Lawson. I couldn't hear them, either – they were talking so quietly – but I knew it was between my dad and the hyena, that's for sure.

"But I couldn't help myself. I know he told me to stay there, but when I heard… when I… look, imagine your dad, the guy you look up to, the one with all the answers, who seems positively _immortal_ , untouchable. Imagine him crying out in a way that you know is going to be his last. Picture hearing his dying breath. You're not gonna stay cooped up out of the way, are ya?"

Despite understanding the question's rhetoric, Judy shakes her head slowly. "No. Heck no," Nick says with a quick jerk of his neck. "I hightailed it over there – I didn't care what happened, I needed to get to my dad. But once I got there," he murmurs tonelessly, "he was already gone. There was nothing I could do."

"Oh, Nick…" Judy is crying now, not in heaving sobs but via silent tears that trickle down her face, warm against her cheeks. She reaches for his paw and clutches it in her own. He lets her have it.

"Lawson wasn't dumb; he knew who I was. And he also knew he was ruined, or was going to be. But he was going to drag as many down with him before that happened, and that so happened to include John Wilde, tailor," the fox grumbles. "But he didn't kill me. He should've, but he didn't. Instead, he tells me… well, you already know most of it."

"Say it again?" Judy asks. "If you can."

Nodding, Nick pauses momentarily, searching his memory for the full slate of conversation once more.

"'You like fireworks, kid? Because remember the day they're practically streamin' out of the sewer grates every square inch of the city. 'Cause that's when Roscoe Lawson's back to claim what's his,'" he recalls, the phrasing nearly identical to the story he had given Bogo earlier.

But he tacks on one last addendum: "And for your sake, fox, you better not have taken up your daddy's line of work, unless you want a knife in your heart too."


	5. Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Wilde might have gone his entire life without telling anyone how his father died. But these things, they come up sometimes. Especially when his killer may be back in Zootopia. ZNN's NaZoWriMo challenge entry!

It is just as he had told her: heart attack.

Judy Hopps pores over the death certificate of John Wilde, flipping the piece of paper over multiple times just to ensure she has gleaned every last bit of data she can from it.

She did not distrust Nick Wilde when he told her about how the Night Rangers ensured his father's death was covered up and ruled something entirely different, but, the inquisitive mind she can be, she resolved to see it for herself before her shift began. And there it is, staring her in the face: heart attack, despite the fox's assurance that John Wilde's cause of death was anything but.

It boggles the rabbit's mind, puts her less at ease than she has been in quite some time, dating back to the Night Howler incident. Not only was her partner's father murdered by the crime boss they are now gearing up to locate and arrest, but the entire thing had also been sealed away in the name of protecting the identities of a couple vigilantes for justice who belonged to a group about whom Judy was not allowed to talk to anyone else, including her superiors on the force – lest more lives become compromised.

She wonders how many other such groups run concurrently with the ZPD at that very moment, civilian-led factions that City Hall may know of but does not choose to control.

Attempting to take things one step at a time, she slides the certificate back into its original envelope and sits there a moment, her head resting in her paws, which are propped up due to her elbows being placed on the desk.

Judy leaves the envelope on the desk of the small waiting room at the department of health, muttering a small thanks to the employee, a sheep, who assisted her, before stepping outside and into the corridor that led to the overpass linking the municipal building and the precinct's police station.

It is early still, about 15 minutes until the morning meeting in the bullpen is scheduled to begin. She and Nick split shortly after leaving her apartment that morning, he willing to make a quick coffee run for the both of them while she promised to wrangle their new temporary partner if he was around yet, if he was around. He had not been, hence her brief trip across the street to satisfy her own curiosity.

A mistake? Perhaps, because the first person she spots when re-entering the precinct is Nick, who clutches two large plastic coffee cups in his paws while talking to another officer; she can smell the aroma from afar – copious amounts of mocha are involved, as she should have expected whenever she lets the fox have free reign on their morning caffeine choices.

"And speak of the devil!" he exclaims, shooting her an eager glance. "Officer Hopps, I found your missing mammal."

It takes a moment for Judy to realize what Nick is referring to, until the officer speaking to Nick turns to face her: a bespectacled wolverine whose glasses seem to magnify his already laser-like stare.

 _Wolverine_ , she thinks, kicking herself internally. _Not wolf. Wolfie._

"Aha! I didn't see you earlier, thought I'd check upstairs in case you were lost," lies the rabbit, jerking her head back toward the staircase she has just descended that leads to the overpass. "Officer… Wolfie, is it?"

The wolverine heaves a great sigh, shutting those intense eyes for a few moments. "If you must," he speaks finally. It is a quick, no-nonsense voice that emits from the animal, wiry, like a robot that has learned speech inflections. "I've long given up on relaying my true name to anyone I meet. Captain Colston has his way of ensuring his dialogue reaches all corners of Zootopia much faster than I ever could ever hope to accomplish. Nicknames notwithstanding."

"You have to tell us how you got it," insists Nick. "I knew a couple of ya when I was younger. They were all wolves."

"Because the captain thought it would be funny to throw off every single person who meets me. I can assure you he's having a wonderful morning thinking about how this conversation could be going and laughing it up," he recounts as though he has told the story a dozen times. "Ah, and I made the mistake early in my tenure with the department in letting him know how much I despised it. So, naturally, he doubled down on the sentiment." The wolverine adjusts his glasses halfheartedly. "We have a ball together."

Judy tries to mask her mouth's yearning to smirk. "Well, he did say you were his best officer," she says, instead throwing on a smile she hopes will come off as genial, not mocking. "That has to count for something."

"That's because he's right. I very much am."

"Good, because you're hangin' with the best our precinct has to offer for the next few days," Nick announces, pulling the wolverine into a hug with one arm draped over the back of his neck, gently jabbing him in the ribs. "Well, me at least. Carrots here rides my coattails."

"Oh, so you own a coat now?" Judy asks, paws on her hips.

Nick sneers at her. "Cute. Not terribly topical, but cute."

"Don't call me cu—"

"If you two are done celebrating your clear mutual attraction for each other, I'd like to visit your bullpen before it gets too crowded for a seat."

The fox and the rabbit freeze at the wolverine's words. Nick is, for once, silent.

"Third door on the right," Judy mutters. They follow their new partner inside.

xXxXxXx

The hum of his squad car's engine tails off into a dull purr and then shuts off completely.

Nick sighs, wrenching the key out of the ignition. Car parked. All set.

Every waking moment spent on this case – all three-or-so hours, at this point, but who is counting? Oh, right, him – is another reminder of how much he would like to be halfway to Bunnyburrow by now, or even one of the other surrounding hamlets deep into the countryside. Anywhere but Zootopia, where there is a constant inkling in the back of his mind that the fox's life could be extinguished like a candle at one's bedside quicker than he can even realize what is going on.

But, hey, his fault for just _having_ to stop at the station before making his grand escape.

The fox leans back in his seat, savoring the few brief moments alone he can muster. Judy and Wolfie – he has decided to call him that until he finds a more suitable nickname the wolverine is also bound to loathe – have been dropped off at the curb outside the high-rise, Nick unable to find an immediate street parking spot and willing to drive a block or two to a nearby parking garage.

His lingering absence will be noted, but Nick figures he has at least five minutes with which he can use the excuse of struggling to find a spot in the garage and having to go all the way up to the fourth level – which is only partially true; yes, he is on the fourth level, but the below platforms are practically empty.

He figures he should probably stop making excuses – the coffee run that morning comes to mind – to walk alone in a city where an old foe of his father's might soon be making a fourth quarter comeback, but the fox is nothing if not blasé about these things if he can help it, especially now that he is here for the long haul. Come whatever may. And don't let it hurt too much when it does, please.

Deciding he has taken long enough time to himself – and realizing that, despite how funny he may find it in the short term, leaving Judy with an animatronic posing as a wolverine is probably not a sound decision in terms of their friendship – Nick grabs his car keys and opens the door.

He is just sliding on his sunglasses when a voice behind the fox startles him, though he is impressed with his ability to hold on to his second coffee of the morning despite the jolt.

"Yo, officer. You got a minute?"

"No autographs, please," mutters the fox, turning from his car as he shuts and locks the door.

The ermine who stands behind him shakes his head intently. "Nah, my wife's got enough of them from cops over the years at home," he chuckles. "Firecracker, that gal."

"Enough to warm the whole family in a place like Tundratown, I'm sure."

"Ain't that the truth. Nah, listen, though – hadn't seen a cop yet today and wanted to ask about those fireworks last night."

Nick forces a smile. "Quite the display, eh? Hope you got a chance to smooch the missus under 'em."

"Oh, a couple times over. But the news tells me this morning that no one knows who set them off. That true?"

"The trigger finger remains to be seen. But listen, pal, if you see something, say something –"

"Your lucky day, then," the ermine cuts across the fox, silencing him. "I did."

xXxXxXx

Judy's cell phone buzzes. A text pops onto her lock screen from Nick.

"Looks like it's just you and I for now," the rabbit intones, tapping out a quick response and shoving the device back into her pocket.

"Could the fox not find ample parking?" Wolfie asks, curving his claws against the arms of his chair.

Judy shakes her head with a grin. "He found some," she says. "And a witness to last night's fireworks display, too. Someone who saw who set them off, supposedly."

"Interesting."

The rabbit is thankful for the break in the silence that otherwise surrounded them before that moment. She and the wolverine are in a waiting room akin to what one might find in a dentist's office. There, however, is neither music nor a TV, and there is an eerie sterility to the place as a result.

A door at the far end of the room will open when their meeting time is met. Judy has never been to a place such as this that she can recall, an apartment unit – a large one, it seems; it just may take up the entire top floor of the high-rise – that requires a waiting room for guests prior to entry, but she also has not spent a fair share of time in luxury condominiums either.

Finally, there is a small creak as the door is unfastened. A young puma wearing a sharp tuxedo steps inside, smiling cordially.

"Good afternoon," says the puma in a singsong voice that flutters through the previous silence of the holding room. "The family will see you now."

Judy hops to her feet immediately, while Wolfie, who has been shuffling around a few papers in his briefcase, shoves them back inside and stands as well. "Thank you," the wolverine says, mustering a social tone, and takes the puma's offer of an open door, Judy close behind.

They enter into an enormous foyer, one that stretches for what seems like the length of three or four regular-sized rooms. It is lined with glass on either end, with spectacular views afforded of the surrounding city skyscrapers and beyond, into Sahara Square, Tundratown and on to the mountains and waters surrounding Zootopia. In one central area, even the roof is lined with this glass, allowing for a steady, healthy stream of natural light to brighten the apartment.

But otherwise, Judy is shocked at how empty the place feels. The sheer scope of the place could be a culprit, but there are often wide expanses between occasional collections of couches, chairs or tables. It is almost like an office building whose rows of cubicles have been stripped and discarded, but with merely a smattering of furniture to replace it.

It would have been even eerier had there not been other mammals inside, but luckily, they are not alone.

A hyena stands at the far end of the room from her spot on a long couch that sits three. Four more heads swivel, but they do not stand.

"Officers," the standing hyena, who wears a long red dress and enormous blue pearl earrings that jingle each time she moves her head, says with a nod once they are close.

"Good morning," Wolfie greets her, extending a paw. "ZPD. Cecilia Lawson, I presume? I've seen your photo before."

The hyena smiles faintly. "You presume correctly," says Cecilia Lawson, gaze moving between the approaching wolverine and rabbit. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Thank you for meeting with us," Judy gives a small wave, stuffing the phone she holds back into her pocket after shooting another message to Nick letting the fox know their updated status. "We shouldn't take too much of your time."

"I'm afraid the adverse will be true as well," speaks one of the elder hyenas from an armchair facing away from them. "We won't have much to give you, I imagine."

That hyena, too, stands, hobbling a bit on his feet as he does so, legs shaking ever so slightly. "Hyde Lawson," he grunts, offering a paw to Wolfie. "You're investigating the reappearance of my brother."

" _Possible_ reappearance," corrects Judy, emphasizing the chance of a hunch being no more than that, even though she has little doubt at this point. "We haven't found him just yet."

Now standing astride the small grouping of furniture, which is situated in a half moon shape surrounding a large flat-screen TV, Judy lays eyes on the other occupants of the room. There are three more hyenas, two younger – a boy and a girl, both fretting about with a doll the girl clutches to her breast while the boy, perhaps her brother judging by their play, attempts to snatch it away. She gets the impression they have been asked to be on their best behavior while receiving visitors, but that this is about the best they can possibly muster.

The other hyena is much older, even more so than Hyde, who is showing his age in his struggle to stand without wobbling. He does not stand to meet them; instead, the hyena stares at Wolfie through hardened teal eyes. If he has given Judy so much as a single thought, it is brief enough that the rabbit does not notice.

Cecilia motions to a pair of chairs directly opposite the couch, which the pair of officers take graciously. "That's true," she agrees, nodding once to the puma who has saw to their arrival. The feline bows and walks a few paces away but is still, by Judy's estimation, within listening range. "My brother-in-law hasn't been seen for a very long time. In fact, we didn't even make the connection until we received your interrogation request."

"So like Roscoe to do this, though," observes Hyde with a slight sneer. "Always had a flair for the extravagant, that one. No surprise he'd want to swoop in with bells on. This was him. I have no question."

He steals a glance at Judy and then at Wolfie, shaking his head dejectedly. "But I'm guessing you're gonna ask if we knew anything about it. Answer's no, let's get that out of the way right off. We haven't heard from Roscoe since he fled the city."

"Really," Wolfie says, his paws gripping the armrests as he stares straight ahead. Judy is amazed at the perfect posture he maintains; the few wolverines she has met often walk with a bit of a slouch. "Not one phone call or postcard in 20 years."

"Nothing. Not even an apology."

"An apology," repeats Wolfie.

"Yeah, for ruining the family business," scowls Hyde.

Wolfie nods. "It is true that I haven't seen the Lawson brand in quite some time. It was quite the chain before you arrived here," he adds, addressing Judy. "There were stores across the city, from downtown to the Marshlands. The flagship store wasn't far from here, in fact. It is now a D'Otterstino's."

Hyde spits at the tan-carpeted ground. "Ingrates."

"Hyde, dear, not in front of the kids," Cecilia warns.

"They don't know what that word means," he says with a shrug.

"I was talking about the spitting." She rolls her eyes.

Hyde looks over at Judy and Wolfie and smiles. "Sorry," he says, grinning sweetly. "Body can't help itself when it hears the name of our old competition."

"The competition that took over most of your stores and employed many of your workers after Roscoe's brush with the law, is that right?" the wolverine asks. Judy wonders how he is not taking any notes; she, on the other hand, is notating hers at a furious rate.

"We were losing money by the truckload after Roscoe's stunt. We had to stop the bleeding somehow."

"So you sold off your stores and retreated up here for the last two decades?" asks Judy, hoping she does not cut across her temporary partner's line of questioning but feeling she needs to get in on the action as well.

"Give or take," Cecilia says. "We're still philanthropists. And we've invested well, too. It's just… in secret nowadays." She upturns the palms of her paws in defeat. "People aren't exactly thrilled to have the Lawson name as a co-sign anymore."

"And that's why we're hoping you can find him before he gets into this forsaken city – if he's not already here," adds Hyde, folding his arms. "He's hurt this family enough. We don't need the finishing blow. Sure, we weren't saints. We might've done some… questionable things around town. But Roscoe," he sneers, "that's where it all went wrong."

Sensing they will not get anything from the Lawson family on Roscoe's current whereabouts, Judy decides, on a whim, to switch gears.

"What did you know about your brother's… supposed liking for meat?"

The elder hyena, who has to this moment remained silent, coughs suddenly – and quite forcefully, as though he has something caught in his throat.

The sound persists for a few moments, with the kids paying him no mind as though this is a regular occurrence, and the other adults merely watching but not moving a muscle just yet, but once it seems the fit is not going to subside anytime soon, Cecilia rises to her feet.

"OK, OK, let's get you some water then, Dad. Up and at 'em." She helps up the hyena, who is still coughing, albeit less soundly, and, grabbing his right paw, begins to lead him away.

"Excuse me," Wolfie moves to stand suddenly. "While we have a quick break in the action, would you mind directing me to your nearest restroom?"

Cecilia smiles sweetly, turning her head back to the rest of the group. "Of course," she says. "Same way as the kitchen. Follow me, please."

As the wolverine exits with the pair of hobbling hyenas, Judy is aware again of the quiet of the room and its almost overwhelming barrenness; though there are appliances such as televisions, they make no sound, and she wonders how often they ever do.

Instead, the only thing she hears is the hushed noises of the children's play, the young boy continuing to try to steal away the doll, which is a young, attractively designed dingo.

She senses Hyde's eyes on her as she watches the two young hyenas play, as well as the puma butler's from farther away. Glancing at Hyde, she smiles. "Cute kids."

"They're ours," says the hyena with a twinge of satisfaction. "Cecilia and I's. We tried for so long to have them when Roscoe and I were running the company but… it never quite worked out. I figured I was sterile or something." He grins. "Guess it's one good thing to come out of the last few years."

"You were partners," Judy says gently. "You and your brother."

Hyde jerks his head toward the kitchen area, where the coughing seems to have subsided. "It was Roscoe and him first. That's my – our – dad, Erlick. When he retired, Roscoe brought me on as second-in-command. 'Course, I only had the role for two years or so until everything happened."

"And then you were… what, president? When your brother disappeared?"

"That and a volunteer firemammal, what with all the blazes I put out – or tried to, at least," he recalls with a chuckle that sounds more spiteful than full of honest laughter. "Wasn't enough, though. And Dad, well, I think he still blames me a bit, because I never saw any of it coming, even though I was the one who wanted to get us out of some of the less savory stuff completely. It's all because I didn't see all that… well, you know."

The rabbit folds her arms over her chest. "I don't mean to be rude, but wasn't the Lawson family involved in illegal practices long before Roscoe's disappearance? When your dad was still part of the company too?"

Hyde grimaces, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, sure," he says. "The whole shebang – drugs, mammals disappearing into the harbor with concrete bricks around their legs, we were stereotypical as can be." His expression hardens. "But the meat trade, that was Roscoe's doing. And I reckon he either kept it from my dad for quite some time, or…" he trails off. "Never mind. Never mind that. Stupid of me to say."

"I find it hilarious that you're telling all of this to a cop."

The hyena smiles knowingly and shrugs. "Crossed my mind, too," he admits. "But I happen to know about a certain rabbit who's quite aware of the dealings of one Mr. Big both then and now and turns the other way." He spreads his arms. "And unlike them, we're reformed."

Judy feels her cheeks flush. This is not the reputation she would rather incur, despite the liking she has taken to the Big family – and the seemingly harmless disposition of the Lawsons.

She briefly thinks of making a new example out of them, but stops herself. They have been nice enough to help the case, after all – and besides, it all had happened so many years ago.

"So," the rabbit starts again, eyes darting momentarily to the kitchen and bathroom area, which leads into a longer corridor where she assumes the bedrooms are located, "I guess since you don't know anything about your brother's whereabouts…"

"It's true," the hyena nods. "Cross my heart. Kids there don't even know the guy exists, and I'm not sure if I plan on ever telling them. If they find out on their own, that's that."

"Then how about an idea of where he'd go?" relents Judy. "Back in the city for the first time in two decades that we know of. Where's he heading first?"

A few moments later, Wolfie meets Judy at the door.

"I decided to see what I could glean from a walk around the premises," the wolverine utters softly, "and to see if the issue with the father was as they say it was."

"Yeah?" Judy whispers, having said their goodbyes to the family but still acutely aware of the butler's looming presence nearby.

"I'm disappointed to note that I came up empty-pawed. And as for Erlick Lawson," he says with a meager shrug, "a little water and he was all better." His gaze shoots to hers. "And you?"

The rabbit opens the door, gives a small wave to the puma and follows Wolfie out.

"Mmhmm," she says, just a little more audibly, once the door is shut behind them. "Not much, but it's something." She glances down at her phone. "Once we meet back up with Nick," she mumbles, typing a text to the fox, "how do you feel about going from visiting one family of crime to another?"

xXxXxXx

"I really appreciate ya taking the time to speak with me," the ermine tells Nick, patting him on the back as they walk to his squad car.

"I can tell," grimaces the fox, lightly rubbing his shoulder after the impact. "But really, I'm glad I ran into you. Makes my job much easier. My partner's probably still trying to snag one useful piece of information from her talk right now."

"Ooh! Who's she talking to? A suspect?"

"Not exactly. I think. Anyway," he clicks a pen and puts it to paper, resting his notepad against the roof of his car, "about those fireworks."

"Oh, right. Right!" He claps his paws and rubs them together as though he is about to solve some dastardly caper. "So my wife and I, we're hanging out on the front stoop of home –"

Nick interrupts, "Where is home?"

"300 block of Tundratown. The sticks, sorta, but we got a good deal on rent. But there's this abandoned firehouse out there, right? Been empty for a decade, maybe more; no one who's lived out there long enough can quite remember. The city moved the guys stationed there a little more inward – dumb, because the buildings out there are way more of a fire hazard these days than the fancy new ones closer to downtown, but eh, ain't my job. I'm getting ahead of myself, right, the firehouse…"

"Sounds like a good place to hide something someone doesn't want to see," Nick notes, jotting down a few words soundlessly for a moment. "No?"

"Right, totally. Or to stash a homebrewing operation since your apartment's not big enough, wait, did I say that? I definitely didn't say that."

Nick makes a mental note to check the place for more than discarded explosives. "So what _did_ you see?"

"Two guys. Big – well, bigger than you and I. But not, like, elephant-sized, y'know what I mean? Wouldn't squash me if they accidentally stepped on me, but I'd stay the heck outta the way if I saw 'em giving me one of these looks, " he slightly closes one eye and comically widens the other, furrowing his brow in what is meant to look highly menacing, "in an alley somewhere. But I didn't get a good look at 'em. Cloaks on, that sort of shady stuff. Always with the cloaks. They definitely didn't wanna be tailed.

"So they go inside, one comes back out, lays something on the ground. Then something else. Then another. It's night, and the lights around that old place busted ages ago, so I couldn't see anything – no one could if they weren't looking or weren't, like, directly beside these guys."

He holds his paws over his face, obscuring his muzzle, back of his paws facing Nick, and then moves them outward like he is performing some kind of low-budget magic trick. "Then they vanish."

"Out of thin air," Nick deadpans, gracious for the information he is jotting into his notebook nonetheless.

"Nah, man, I mean like they went back inside, never came out again, and then that whole show started," he says, beginning to mimic the exploding fireworks with broad waves of his paws. "Boom, bang, all that. Dangerously close to a lot of buildings, too – it's a good thing no one was super close. My ears are still ringing."

Nick stares at the ermine. "So you're saying they're just still in there? Or…"

"I was there this morning – these guys had a key to the padlock on the front door, and it's locked again, but I snuck in. Little break in one of the windows 'round back." Squinting at Nick, sizing him up, he adds, "You could probably fit in there, too. But lose the hat."

The fox paws at his uniform hat as if on cue. To be fair, he has never really liked wearing it.

"Not a soul inside, though. Whoever it was?" For emphasis, he decides to go with the silly magic trick motion with his paws again. "Gone."

Nick finishes writing, looks up and smiles. "May have to take a trip down there myself," the fox says before setting pen to paper yet again. "Ah, and I'll need your name and number."

"Jay Stout. Friends call me Sneak. Got a tendency to stick this nose," he points at his snout, which Nick notices is slightly crooked, "places it shouldn't be. Guess it pays off sometimes, eh?"

"If you wanna keep riding that luck, sure," Nick rejoins, finishing up everything he needs in his notepad and tossing it back into his pocket. "We'll be in touch. Say hi to the missus for me."

With a quick wave, Nick starts toward the staircase leading to ground level, but, finally choosing to no longer ignore the buzzing in his pocket, pulls out his phone and stops in his tracks; the last time he tried to read texts on his phone and descend stairs at the same time, he ended up yowling in pain on Judy's couch for a few hours.

He groans upon reading the rabbit's message. "Can't we stick to just one of these families for one day?"


	6. Informant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Wilde might have gone his entire life without telling anyone how his father died. But these things, they come up sometimes. Especially when his killer may be back in Zootopia. ZNN's NaZoWriMo challenge entry!

The gates to the Big complex open almost immediately once their squad car rolls up to the driveway. Judy Hopps had the foresight to contact Fru Fru beforehand, and it appears their arrival has been anticipated down to the second their car's headlights first flashed in the front gates' direction.

Nick Wilde rolls the car forward. He had hoped they might not be home.

His agitation is clear to Wolfie, who observes from the back seat of the cruiser. "Bad experience with Mr. Big, I take it?" he asks more to Judy than Nick, since he figures the fox might not be too keen on responding.

"They go back," the rabbit responds, jerking a finger at Nick, whose paws maintain a tight grip on the steering wheel as he pulls to the seldom-used guest parking area. "Not a great history there. Even though—"

"Yes, yes, we know, Carrots," speaks the fox finally, tossing the car into park and giving his partner an irritated glare. "You don't think he has it out for me anymore. But of course you'd think that. You're the godmother to his grandkid."

"Oh, my." This was clearly news to the wolverine in the back seat.

"All right. First, not a word," Judy points at Wolfie, who congruently shuts his mouth, "to anyone in the ZPD. And Bogo's cool with it anyway, as long as it helps us solve a case. Which we're doing. _And_ ," she turns back to Nick, rolling her eyes at him pointedly, in a way she hopes he catches, "if he really wanted you iced, he would've done it through someone else ages ago and made sure the tracks didn't lead back to him. You and I both know that."

Nick can only grumble under his breath as he opens the driver's side door.

"So what _is_ the plan, then?" the wolverine asks, sidling out of the back seat after Judy. "I assume you're heading into this in a similar manner as we did at the Lawson home."

"Pretty much," Judy says with a nod, reaching for her utility belt and patting her tranquilizer, just in case. "I wanted to talk to him anyway, or at least maybe Fru Fru, pretty early on. But after what Hyde told me, I realized there might be more to their connection than I thought."

"Right. Selling him out."

At least, that was Hyde Lawson's claim. Before Judy and Wolfie left the family's high-rise apartment, the hyena divulged a detail that both Nick and Wolfie later said made perfect sense but had never considered: that the initial tipoff for Roscoe Lawson's illicit activities that eventually drove him out of business and out of Zootopia as a whole came from none other than Mr. Big himself.

And if that is the case, then Hyde had a point: the Big complex could very well be Roscoe Lawson's first stop on his grand tour back in the city. Chances are it would not be much of a pleasure visit, either.

Koslov, the head of Big's polar bear guards, greets them at the front door to the main building with his usual combination of whatever the exact opposite of charm may be to a mammal.

And as usual, Nick is keen to play off it; one might never expect his dissatisfaction at the situation otherwise.

"Hey, bud! Didn't catch you at the hockey game the other night. Your box was empty!" chats the fox, leaning against the doorframe while Judy and Wolfie move to shuffle inside. "We had dibs on the ZPD box for the match."

"Yes," the polar bear booms. "I know. That is why I did not attend."

"Ha! Koslov, I'll tell ya, they say you can't tell a joke from a death threat, but your sense of humo—"

"Who is this?"

Judy has already walked inside, but Wolfie's way is blocked by Koslov's enormous paw.

"He's with us." Judy places her own paws on Koslov's, attempting to lower it gently. "He's an officer from precinct four – mostly Tundratown."

"Ah. Then he cannot come."

"But Koslov, I—"

"He cannot come," the bear repeats in the exact same tone.

Nick snaps his fingers. "Well, darn. Guess I'll just hang out with Wolfie out here, keep him company."

The fox is grabbed by the collar of his uniform. He lets out a mock choking noise, but Judy ignores him.

"I, uh…" she starts, trying to find a way around the predicament, but Wolfie is quick to cut her off.

"I understand. I'll wait in the cruiser and try to wrap my head around this case some more. As long as you'll be quick," the wolverine adds.

Judy nods. "Yeah. Shouldn't take long. Thanks, Wolfie."

The door is shut before the Tundratown officer can even respond, with Koslov gently pushing the pair of remaining officers toward Mr. Big's parlor.

Nick groans beside the rabbit. "C'mon, Fluff. You're breaking up my bonding time with my fellow dude. You got to hog him back at—"

"Not now, Nick. Focus."

"Yes, of course, because why would there be _anything_ else on my mind right now?"

Mr. Big is waiting for them when they enter. Two other polar bears stand on either side of the table on which the tiny shrew's chair is situated. A pair of steaming cups of coffee are already waiting for them. A nearby TV is barely audible, with some daytime talk show airing.

"Sir, thank you for—" Judy starts, but is, as always, interrupted by the offering of his ring finger to her, which she accepts with a quick peck, followed by Nick, who does so much more quickly and without a word, slinking back behind the rabbit as soon as the greetings are out of the way.

"You want to know about Roscoe Lawson, don't you?" the mob boss squeaks.

Judy blinks. "Uh… uh, yes, right, that's it. How did you—"

"Judith, Judith, you should know by now that nothing happens in this city without my knowledge. I might dare to say I knew who was behind that little show last night before either of you were."

"Nick knew pretty quickly," the rabbit notes, shaking her head at the fox, who sighs and meekly waves behind her.

"Hm," grunts Mr. Big. "Makes sense."

The shrew pokes his head around the rabbit. "Nicky. Come. What's with this hiding?"

"S-sorry," the fox stutters, stepping aside and up astride Judy. "A little on edge."

"As you should be."

"Thanks. I feel better now."

"But that's the beauty of it, is it not?" the shrew leans back in his chair, folding his paws across his lap. "You have a target on your back. I have one, too. That will lure my old friend to either one of us, after two decades in hiding, the coward."

"Wait, target?" Judy looks around the room. "And aren't there usually more guards in here?"

"Yes on both counts. Some of my bears are on the outskirts of my property, just in case. The others are around Zootopia as we speak. Probably doing much of the same work as you are."

"So… what we've been told is true, then?"

"Assuming you are talking about how I helped drive Roscoe Lawson out of this city, then yes, it is true," says Mr. Big with a self-satisfied smile. "I learned about his little operation and held it as leverage for years. _Years_. As long as he stayed out of my way, I wouldn't tell a soul about what he liked to eat in the privacy of his own home."

Judy and Nick glance at each other and then back to the shrew. "So… how did that change?" the rabbit asks after a pause.

"He must get the meat from somewhere, correct? Did you ever think about _where_ it came from?"

"I heard it was prey, mostly," Nick answers timorously. "And a lot of 'em just happened to be on the wrong side of the train tracks when an order came in."

"That's right, Nicky. And it so happens that one of those unfortunate souls happened to be my very brother."

Judy throws a paw to her mouth. Nick grimaces.

"He was barely involved in the family businesses," Mr. Big continues as though his revelation is nothing more than a quick answer to an easy trivia question. "We were not close. But he was family, and that is a bond that I shall never break, no matter what. So when I found out, well, I considered many, many ways of revenge…" he pauses, then grins toothily, "but I decided that killing him wouldn't be worth it. I wanted him to suffer and see his empire crumble before his very eyes."

He swivels his chair toward Nick. "So I told your father what I knew."

Nick searches the shrew for a few moments; he cannot help but leave his mouth agape while he considers things. "So wait, you… you knew my father?"

"Nicky," Mr. Big spreads his arms wide, "why else do you think I made you part of the family back when you had nowhere else to go? I liked Johnny. I always did."

"But he…" sputters Nick, "he was… The Night Rangers were…"

"What you have to understand is that I have always been very, _very_ careful with anything I choose to do." The shrew grins with a hint of mischief at the corners of his mouth. "I still am. Your dad knew that. He tried for years to catch me red-pawed doing something, slunk around here for ages. But he never could. I was too careful, especially once I knew about his little club of do-gooders."

He takes a swig of tea before continuing. "But throughout all that, we gained a mutual respect for each other. Sure, I have no doubt that he would have taken me down on the spot if he had all his evidence lined up and ready to go, but Johnny, I think he understood the benefit of having someone like me on his side, too. It benefited their entire operation."

"You think Lawson knows you were the informant?" asks Judy, lightly grasping Nick's elbow and giving it a squeeze of reassurance.

"Oh, of that I am very much certain. I imagine he knew it was coming the moment he realized he killed one of my own."

He turns his nose upward. "But I'm afraid I can tell you nothing more."

"Won't or can't?"

"My only role here is what I have chosen to divulge, Judith," the shrew responds, nodding to the polar bears on either side of him. One places the crime lord's chair into the palm of his paw and begins to lift him. "As always, I do this because you are the godmother of my granddaughter, not because you are a cop. I trust we continue to meet at that understanding."

"Right, but—"

Judy is silenced by a jab in the ribs from the fox. Rubbing her side, she moves to smack him back, but follows his gaze to the TV instead.

"Hm," Mr. Big, now watching the TV headlines as well, says, nonplussed. "Will you look at that."

Judy and Nick are floored at what they see on the screen in front of them, whatever daytime talk show that was on before having been interrupted by a special report from the Zootopia News Network.

Koslov grabs a remote control and ups the volume.

"…have taken Hyde Lawson into custody for the illegal trafficking of banned substances, including meat from slaughtered citizens of Zootopia, over 20 years ago," drones Peter Moosebridge. "Though he was never formally charged with the crime, the Lawson trade was thought to be orchestrated by Hyde's brother Roscoe, who has not been seen since allegations of his role in the trade began surfacing."

"Wait… what?" Judy cannot believe her eyes.

Nick whirls around and faces his partner. "It's not true," he exclaims, his eyes suddenly quite wide. "It can't be. Roscoe's the one who killed my dad that day."

"And Hyde was… he didn't…" Judy stammers. She finally snaps out of her stupor and turns back toward the door. "We gotta get back to the precinct. Let's go tell Wolfie –"

"Um," a polar bear Judy and Nick recognize as Kevin enters the room, unzipping his jacket; it seems he has just come from outside. "Was there someone else with you two? Because if so, I heard a noise, so I came to look – they're gone. And there are signs of a struggle, too."

xXxXxXx

"I do not understand. The feed goes completely black."

Koslov, Judy and Nick are in the security room of the Big complex, rewinding and replaying the tape facing the front gates of the home over and over again. At one moment, the midday sun beats down on a wintry yard, with the officers' police cruiser in view, Wolfie leaning against it, smoking a cigarette.

Then… darkness. And once the feed returns, the wolverine is gone. His briefcase remains, wide open, by the right rear tire of the cruiser.

"Someone's blocking it. Like, something's in front of the camera."

Judy turns to Nick, who is staring intently at the monitor. "How can you tell?"

"Because it's not a clean block, not at first," the fox explains. "May I?" He takes the computer mouse from Koslov, wriggling it around to find the cursor before rewinding the tape once more and, this time, clicking the slow motion option.

"All right… now, look… _there_."

Nick pauses the video. Sure enough, much of the screen is now obscured, but the tiniest of openings on the lower right still shows the scene outside, or at least white light that suggests something beyond it.

After clicking ahead two frames, the corner spot is gone as well. "See?" says the fox, moving back and forth between the final frames for good measure. "Someone blocks it. Comes in from the top or from the side."

"So whatever happened to Wolfie… he didn't go alone," breathes Judy.

"I'd say that's a very good probability, yes."

Judy turns to Koslov, rubbing her chin as she goes over the scenario in her head. "And outside," she begins, "there were footprints in the snow…"

"A wolverine's."

"But no one else's?"

"No. But they seemed distressed, no? Many in one place, then a large indent, like maybe someone falls."

"And there wouldn't be any other cameras that would have seen this?"

The polar bear shakes his head slowly. "All others face more vulnerable areas. If mammals are coming to see the boss and do not wish to be seen, they do not take the front door, am I right?"

"Fair argument," Nick points out.

Sighing heavily, Judy pushes her chair back from the monitor-lined desk and hops to the ground. "So in addition to whatever the heck is going on with Hyde Lawson getting arrested – by someone we work with and just a few hours after we were _there_ – we've got a missing mammal case going now, too?"

"Hey, Carrots, look on the bright side: at least your father's killer isn't making a visit into town."

The rabbit groans, slamming her head on the desk. "This just got a hundred times more complicated. Nick, we gotta get back."

"And tell Bogo and Colston we lost the officer they assigned to help us. I'll bet this day can get better. What do you think, big guy?" Nick gently elbows Koslov's side. "How happy are our superiors going to be with us today?"

"I think you will be yelled at with the force of a mighty avalanche. Also, you should leave now so that you may meet that avalanche. We have problems to deal with here too."

"Yes. Right. We'll get out of your fur."

A few minutes later, Nick and Judy are at the doors to their cruiser, hopping inside.

"You know, we could just not call in Wolfie's disappearance…"

"I really hope you're joking," Judy, now in the driver's seat, grunts.

"Only partially. Prefer the dynamic duo. Has a better ring to it."

Judy rolls her eyes. "We're telling Bogo and Colston. In fact, call Clawhauser. Maybe someone'll know something."

They do not, judging by Clawhauser's surprised vocal and Colston's subsequent flustered voice that comes through the dispatch.

"What do you mean _gone_?" the arctic wolf demands; Nick can practically feel the force with which he is gripping Clawhauser's mic.

"He was waiting outside, sir," Judy says, trying to remain steadfast, into the walkie-talkie. He was gone when we came back. There was a struggle, it looked like. And the security footage… someone blocked it."

There is a smacking noise on the other end of the line, followed by Clawhauser's voice again. "Uh… sorry, he dropped this and left," the cheetah sputters. "He, uh… uh, oh jeez, he's talking to Bogo, I – _hey_ , sir, how's it – oh, oh, all right –"

" _Hopps! Wilde!_ "

"Chief Bogo!" exclaims Nick. "What's it been, five, six hours?"

"Get back here as soon as you can. We need to talk."

 _Click_.

"Uh… soooo, you probably got all that, but…"

"We get it, Clawhauser," grumbles Judy. "See you soon."

"Oh, joy," Nick says in a singsong voice. "Another visit to Bogo's office! Two in two days, Fluff. We're on fire."

Judy ignores the sentiment. "What are we going to tell them?" she asks, wrestling the cruiser through the snow and onto the street. "We lost our partner, and… oh, lovely, we visited the guy you just arrested right before you apparently found evidence to accuse him of a crime when we found absolutely nothing."

The fox leans his elbow on the window ledge of the passenger side, sighing. "It doesn't make sense," he mutters. "None of it does. You said Hyde seemed totally innocent, right?"

"Yeah. And was _not_ a fan of his brother. Blamed him for the family business going down."

"Right. And I know what I saw when I was younger – that was Roscoe, not Hyde; the spots are way different on the bridge of their nose, have you noticed?"

"But that doesn't make Hyde innocent," points out Judy.

"Totally. But I've got a good feeling this doesn't give his brother the ability to walk free, either."

They sit in silence as they near the precinct. Judy looks over after a while.

"I'm… sorry about all this," she says, barely above a whisper. "I mean, with your dad and all. It must be tough to have to bring back all those memories."

She cannot see her partner's eyes due to the sunglasses he wears, but she sees the corners of his snout upturn ever so slightly. "Thanks, Carrots," says the fox. "That means a lot. I'm thinking a visit to my mom tonight will be in order."

"Oh?"

"If we get a break from this case anytime soon, that is, then yeah. I wanna see her. Maybe talk about some of this. Talk about Dad."

Judy lays a paw on his, the other retaining its hold on the steering wheel. "They gotta let us sleep eventually," she smiles. "Or… what if I dropped you off there now?"

"Psh," laughs Nick. "And leave you alone with Buffalo Butt and some wolf with a dumb nickname? Nah." He waves a paw dismissively. "Let 'em do their worst. I'll see Ma afterward with what's left of me."

xXxXxXx

Nick is staring at the photo in the corner of Chief Bogo's office again, which is why he misses his commanding officer's most recent question.

" _Wilde_!"

The fox snaps his attention back to the expectant buffalo. Judy sits on a chair in front of his desk, while Colston, arms folded, stands beside Bogo. "Repeat the question?"

"Pay attention this time," growls Bogo, pointing a hoof at the fox. "Or a partner is not the only thing you'll lose today."

"Ooh, vague threats. My favorite."

Choosing to ignore the retort, Bogo asks again, "You are certain you saw Roscoe Lawson all those years ago killing that investigator. Yes? It was not his brother, who we apprehended two hours ago after new evidence points him to the meat trade his family operated?"

"I'm certain, sir. It's all in the nose bridge pattern. And what about that evidence?"

"We received an anonymous tipoff telling us to search the Lawson apartment," Colston notes while Bogo takes a seat in his chair. "Called in to Captain Geoffers; he says they're still trying to determine where the call came from. Once his team arrived, they did what you guys didn't: perform a search."

"And they found…?" trails off Judy.

"An old folder in Hyde's room containing contracts, orders, all the minute details in between from all the old trades the family used to do – including the transport of illegal meats. All signed off on by Hyde Lawson and no one but Hyde Lawson. Old papers, too – one apparently nearly crumbled in Geoffers' hooves. No mention of Roscoe."

Nick crosses his arms and eyes Colston. "Do you think that's a little odd?" the fox asks curiously. "I mean, you said it yourself, you were on Roscoe's tail all those years ago. No mention of Hyde. That doesn't seem like a coincidence."

"It doesn't. That is not lost on me," Colston grumbles. "Frankly, I'm still very concerned about Roscoe Lawson. But I understand Geoffers' position in the matter. I would have done the same thing."

He sighs. "And, of course, there's always the possibility that I was… wrong."

"What, if anything, did you glean from your visit to the Lawson apartment?" asks Bogo, elbows on his desk, resting his hooves lightly against the bridge of his nose. "Aside from, apparently, nothing tying Hyde to this?"

"We… didn't get much," admits Judy, her eyes finding the brown wood of Bogo's desk. "They said they hadn't heard from Roscoe since he went missing. And Hyde was… he seemed upset, even still, about what went down. Then they gave us some information that led us to the Big complex."

Bogo grunts. "Of course. Big always finds his way into these things, doesn't he?"

"He says it was Roscoe, not Hyde, that's for sure. Was the informant, set everything into motion."

"Then it's possible Mr. Big was spreading false rumors to protect Hyde, no?" Colston pipes up thoughtfully.

"Er… maybe?"

"And it was there that my officer went missing."

Both Judy and Nick nod, but do not say anything further.

The wolf walks the few short steps to Bogo's desk and lays a paw on the wood, tapping it lightly, rhythmically.

"I'll take care of locating ol' Wolfie. He was never much of a cellphone guy, so we won't be able to track him that way, but I'll figure something out."

Bogo nods slowly. With that, Colston gives the fox and rabbit one last allusive look before exiting.

Once he is out of the room, it is Nick who speaks first.

"Sir… can I ask something?"

The buffalo massages his temples with a hoof. "This had better be good," he grumbles.

"Well, _good_ is in the eye of the beholder, as we've discussed many times before. But I wanted to ask about this photo over here."

The chief looks up from his desk, eyes following Nick to the framed picture in the corner of the room.

"What about it?"

"Well, aside from whatever was going on with your jewelry choices back then, I couldn't help but notice that… our suspect, absolved or not, is in it as well."

Bogo squints at the photo, leaning forward slightly, while Judy jumps down from her chair and joins Nick beside it.

It is a ribbon-cutting ceremony, and Bogo stands in the far left corner, looking stoic as always. There is a collection of other officers present, including what looks to have been the buffalo's predecessor. Colston and Geoffers, or at least younger officers who certainly look like fresher versions of them, stand among the group as well. The precinct one downtown headquarters in which they now sit can be seen in the background.

"Ah, yes, from when this building was dedicated. It was a strange situation, in my opinion, to perform a ribbon-cutting ceremony on a police station, but Chief Andersen insisted, as did the mayor."

"Andersen," repeats Judy as she looks over the picture. "As in, our Andersen? They're both polar bears…"

"Yes, Officer Andersen is a nephew of our former chief."

Nick's eyes wander from the mayor – Mayor Leopold, who was a few terms ahead of Lionheart in the chronology of city mayors – and works his way back to Roscoe Lawson, who stands beside Chief Andersen, eyes fixed directly on the camera, smirking.

"And Lawson's involvement wassss…" the fox starts, drawing out the s.

"A donor. Helped make this building possible. We used to have a plaque out front."

Nick frowns. "Used to."

"When the allegations came forth after his disappearance, City Hall decided it would be best to forget the thing ever existed. It's still in the old records room downstairs somewhere." Bogo stares at the ceiling thoughtfully. "We meant to make a new one that still recognized the contributions of the other donors. Huh."

"What about these other folks, then?"

"I'll have to get a closer look…"

The buffalo rises from his seat and walks to the corner of the room. Nick finds himself surprised the chief has even put up with his questions for this long.

"Let's see…" he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and leaning in, "the horse to Lawson's left is Jenny Haymaker, socialite family then and now, another donor; beside her is Felix Prickley – worked in the city's civil engineering sector at the time, that porcupine had a knack for automation as a hobby if I recall correctly; the pig is Ellie Swinton, from Leopold's office, actually works in the city clerk's office nowadays; then that's Erlick Lawson, Roscoe's father and the company's founder…"

Judy's eyes linger on Erlick for a moment; the elder Lawson is strikingly similar to Hyde's appearance earlier that day. Somewhat unkempt, graying fur, but all firmly pressed into a taut suit. Roscoe, concurrently, appears far more well-groomed.

"I can't recall all the details of those in the back," concludes Bogo after running down the line of posing mammals. "I can see why you would ask about it, though. It was a… different time then, when I first rose through the ranks of this department."

"Your ears really tell that story. How many piercings –"

"Can it, Wilde."

After lingering on the photo for just a few more moments, Bogo trudges back to his desk. "So," he says, leaning on the wooden object with his hooves but opting to not sit down, "let's discuss where this goes from here."

"Right," nods Judy, leaping back up onto her chair. "Sir, this all seems a little more than coincidental. Lawson kinda-sorta announces his return to Zootopia, then just a day later his brother is brought in for the crime he supposedly committed instead? _And_ one of our officers disappears while investigating a lead on Lawson himself?"

"That precisely is why I still don't trust Roscoe Lawson," murmurs Bogo. "And even if his brother had something to do with all of this after all, that doesn't automatically absolve the other."

"So where do we go from here? Nick and I have a whole list of leads we could follow…"

"Then by all means, follow them," the buffalo says, taking off his glasses and glancing at the rabbit and then the fox, rubbing his forehead. "As far as I'm concerned, that was your mission from the start: to find out what Lawson is planning and to cut him off before anything – and I emphasize _anything_ – crazy happens. The ZPD is large. We'll have no trouble finding others to tackle the brother's side of the story. In fact, I'm sure Captain Geoffers and his team are already on the case. I'll be meeting with them after we conclude.

"Until I give the word, you are to continue your hunt for clues on Roscoe Lawson. Am I clear?"

"Yessir," speak both mammals.

The buffalo nods. "Good. Now, after your late night yesterday evening and an early start today, I recommend you break out of here now. Frankly, the ZPD will be up to its ears in overtime pay after all this, and if I can mitigate that in any way, I will. Go home, rest up, dispatch will contact you if the details of your case need immediately tended to."

There is a pause. "You… aren't too worried about this guy coming in and doing anything drastic then, are you?" asks Nick.

"We have every border of this city heavily guarded right now. If he comes in any way, we'll know." He grins. "And then I'll snuggle up and drag the both of you out of bed myself."

"At least buy me a nightcap first, sir."

The chief points at the open office door.

xXxXxXx

The sun has set over the brownstones and jam-packed apartment buildings of the Meadowlands by the time the fox and the rabbit arrive outside the five-story apartment with the green door. A slight breeze rustles Judy's shirt, and she smooths the collar of her flannel down around her neck.

Nick gives her a side-eyed glance. "You're cool with hanging alone tonight, then? Still?"

She smirks at the fox. "You're being extra clingy tonight."

"Well, you _are_ the one who insisted on accompanying me to my mom's apartment, even though I know the way like the back of my paw and we're a dozen subway stops from your place. So I could say the same thing."

Sighing overdramatically, the rabbit playfully taps him in the ribs. "I'm bored," she admits. "Had time to waste."

"You should get to sleep early, Carrots. Up and at 'em early tomorrow. City to protect, all that noise."

"I will." She glances up at the apartment building once more. "She knows you're coming, right?"

Nick laughs. "Yes, Carrots, I don't spring myself onto my mom at all hours of the day and night. That was my twenties. I'm reformed."

"Uh huh."

"You're welcome to stay for a few minutes if you'd like. She couldn't stop raving about you the last time she met you. Like, on and on and on…"

"Nah," Judy shakes her head, pushing her partner forward by his elbow. "You two… seem like you have a little bit to catch up on. Especially after today."

Nick grimaces as he is led forward. "Don't remind me," he mutters. "I'm still not sure how I'm going to tell her that I think Dad's killer's trying to stage a comeback."

"You'll be fine. C'mon. Go."

Instead of ascending the front stoop, the fox whirls around and pulls Judy in for a tight embrace.

"I'll text you," he says.

"I know."

She watches him press the buzzer to be let inside, waves when he gives a thumbs up, and turns away, internally plotting what kind of information she can gather while technically being off the clock; after all, sleep be damned, the bunny knows what is at stake, after all, for her partner, should their in-hiding hyena come out to play.

Nick, giving one last look over his shoulder, resolves to, after meeting with his mother, do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand this is as far as I was able to get in November.
> 
> More coming soon, though! Really soon, I hope.


	7. Over Drinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Wilde might have gone his entire life without telling anyone how his father died. But these things, they come up sometimes. Especially when his killer may be back in Zootopia. An entry into Zootopia News Network's NaZoWriMo challenge!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated finally! It's been a rough few weeks.
> 
> Hope it's not terrible! Thanks so much for reading.

The low crackle of television static greets Nick Wilde when he enters his mother's apartment. It does not come from her TV set; rather, he knows it to be courtesy of her neighbor, a lynx named Rena, who sets the dial to some channel she has never been able to retrieve via her antenna, because it helps her sleep.

Nick figures his mom will be awake, despite Rena's apparent slumber; it is early evening, and normally she does not retire until around 9:30 or 10, as far as he is aware. But if she has been lured to sleep by her neighbor's mildly unconventional way of catching some shuteye, he will not be shocked, either. Luckily, he has a spare key, so he will not need to wait outside, wondering the reason for her absence should she not show.

Or, at least he _thought_ he had a key. The fox searches within his pockets for the keyring he usually carries just in case (there is one for Finnick's van, too, though he is fairly certain the fennec fox does not know it is in his possession), its contents jingling with his paws' eager movements and grasps, pulling out old receipts, his own keyring with an extra added for Judy's apartment, occasional coins he is keeping for laundry if he ever gets around to it.

It is not there. He must have left it at home somehow.

Cursing his forgetfulness with a swift eyeroll, Nick ejects his paws back out of his pants pockets and raps them a few times against the door – quietly, but with enough force for his mother to hear if she is home.

He hears the lock turn and the extra chain lock become untangled and unlatched from the door. It opens slightly.

"Ma'am," he says sternly, with a quick wave of his paw. "How much are you currently paying on your electric bill? Because I—"

The vixen who stares back at Nick through the crack in the door gives him a tired smile amid weary eyes.

"Nicholas," she breathes, clutching the edge of the door and pulling it open. "It's late. You don't usually come this late."

Nick accepts the invitation inside, absentmindedly tossing much of his pockets' riches onto the kitchen and taking a seat, lounging, on the seafoam green couch his mother has owned since he was a kit.

"Is this a bad time? Bedtime isn't for another hour or two, right? Still have your _My Three Bison_ reruns, by my estimate." He props his legs up atop the coffee table in front of him.

His mother reaches into the nearby cupboard and pulls out two teacups and the family heirloom teapot Nick is certain tastes like Earl Grey no matter what is brewed within it. She sighs as she lights a flame at the stove, her gaze floating around the tiny one-bedroom apartment she has lived in since Nick was a teenager, before settling on her son.

"No, no, it's still just unlike you to drop in this late without calling, that's all."

Nick grins from the couch, reclining with his paws resting behind his head, basking in the slight breeze flowing through the open window. "I was in the neighborhood," he lies. "And I got off work earlier than I expected."

He jerks his head toward the window, which overlooks one of the Meadowlands' dimly lit side streets, a thoroughfare only for locals and folks looking to beat traffic on the main road. There is a slight view of the night sky visible from the windowsill, but only so much; mostly she is facing another mixed-use building much like her own. "Plus, I wanted to ask if you saw the show last night."

"The fireworks?" she asks from the stove, dropping two steeping balls into the pot.

"Yeah. It got me thinking about Dad."

A loud clinking of mugs sounds from by the stove, and Nick perks up his ears, raising his head to see the hubbub – though it appears the vixen has simply knocked over her sugar container. She quickly moves to right it again.

"Mom, I—"

"Sorry, Nicholas. Clumsy me." She funnels the spilt sugar back into its pot with a spoon. "So. Your father?"

"Yeah, that fox…"

His mother wipes a paw against her white turtleneck sweater, turning toward her son. There is a calculating look spread across her muzzle, determined, as though she is figuring out how best to approach the topic of her dead husband with her adult son. They do not talk of him often.

"Well, I wondered if you might ask about him," she says, dusting off her sweatshirt and pants. "The fireworks, the roses – that's what he told you, right? How you'd know he would return?"

"Right, I—" he freezes. "Wait." Nick stands slowly, folding his arms across his chest. "You mean… you knew too?"

She turns her back to him again, removing the tea from its burner. "Well, yes, Nicholas. I may not have been there that night, but I know what happened."

"Sure. Yeah, Mom, sure. Of course," Nick waves his paws in front of his face. "It's just… we never talked about it like that, about Roscoe Lawson. I didn't know you knew… that part."

"Is that right?" The vixen pours the steaming liquid into two mugs and readies to pick them up to bring both to the coffee table. "Hm. You were so young. It just must have… not been the right time."

Her son joins her at the counter, grabbing both of the teas instead with oven mitts between his paws. "Nope. Too hot for you nowadays. Remember when you burned your paws last winter? You couldn't feel it for the first few seconds."

Glancing pointedly at the couch, he nods toward its vacant cushions. "Sit. C'mon."

She joins him, accepting the cup of tea once it cools down a bit but merely bending down and blowing a torrent of air into its steam rather than taking an immediate sip.

"So," he says after a deep breath, peering once more at the open window, through which the breeze has subsided marginally. "Ma. I know we don't talk about Dad much…"

His mother nods but says nothing.

"…but I wanted to know about something. Something he was a part of." He pauses a beat. "The Night Rangers. You knew 'em, right?"

"Oh, Nicholas, please don't tell me you're sticking your nose somewhere it doesn't belong."

"Psh. Me? Never."

She frowns. "What your dad used to do – that wasn't safe. It wasn't smart. I didn't agree with it."

"Right. But you know them, yeah?"

"Yes, I did, but—"

"Who else was part of it, then? Besides Dad."

"I don't know, Nicholas. It was disbanded shortly after your father's death."

"He has a _name_ , you know. You can call him John. You always do any other time."

"OK. After _John_ died," she begins again with a hint of exasperation, which Nick immediately picks up on.

He quips, snarkily, "Don't sound so sympathetic, he was only your husband."

"Nicholas. Behave."

"Sorry." He rolls his eyes.

"As far as I'm aware, John's group died out when he did. He was one of its leaders, after all. I think everyone else got spooked. Which is completely sane of them."

"So… you don't know anyone." Nick's ears droop a little. He had hoped this might open a new avenue or two.

"No one who's still around now."

His eyes dart to hers. "Wait. You mean—"

She waves a paw facetiously. "Old age. Other health problems. Don't worry, nothing like what happened to… to your father."

Nick takes a sip of tea to calm his nerves – and to right his mind again. He cannot deny he is a bit flummoxed by his mother's lack of answers.

"So… none of this scares you?" he asks finally, letting the question roll off his tongue slowly, deliberately. "That the guy who killed Dad is coming back? Or back already?"

Sighing, the vixen, having clutched her tea cup before then but, as far as Nick can tell, not actually drinking a drop, sets it back down on the coffee table and slides herself just a little closer to her son across the somewhat-lumpy cushions.

"A little," she admits. "Maybe a little. But I don't believe Roscoe Lawson has any more business with this family, too. Despite what he told you."

Nick blows out hard through his nose, shaking his head twice. "I may not be some secret vigilante for justice," says the fox with a hint of amusement at the irony, "but I _am_ a cop now. It's practically the same thing, you just don't have to visit some darkened street corner to find us."

He is surprised to feel her paw against his, enveloping it with a tight squeeze. His mother has never been remarkably affectionate in physical gestures – not, at least, since John Wilde died. It is an unusually clammy touch, but he figures it is the thought that counts – and resolves to shut that window later, if he remembers to.

"You're a good cop, though, Nicholas," she says with a smile. "Your father didn't have the training or the resources you do. And I know that you'll get through because of that – and because you're his son." There is a glint in her eyes. "He would be proud, you know."

The two foxes interlock in a brief embrace, Nick clutching the back of her shoulder blades as he grins, eyes half-lidded for something other than dismal sarcasm for once.

"He would be now," says the fox as they break apart. "Previous 20 years, not so much."

"Skip over those parts when you see him again," she advises him with a wink.

After a few moments of silence, Nick glances up at the ticking wooden clock on the wall opposite him, noting its time.

" _My Three Bison_ is on soon. Want some company?"

"Only if you promise to stay the night. It's late."

He snorts. "Please. We're supposed to be nocturnal, Ma. And anyway, I was out with Judy until late last night, much later than this."

"But that was Downtown, I'm sure. You're back in the Meadowlands." She gathers both teacups and carries them to the sink. "Besides, you haven't talked to me about Judy in a while. Come on. I insist. I like how you light up when I bring her up, anyway."

Nick does not argue a second time.

xXxXxXx

In the Rainforest District, there is a bar on Vine Street populated mostly by locals; it has a Yelp entry, but there are not enough reviews to provide a general ratings consensus to would-be tourists.

Not that sightseers find themselves within the watery streets of the neighborhood much anyway, opting for the frillier downtown areas and the places with more enticing opportunities for exploration.

It is not a raucous place, not even in the wee hours of the evening when most civilization has long since gone to bed, leaving ruffians, college students and the occasional otherwise-unclassified stragglers to their own devices. That is largely attributed to the barkeep, Miss Pawper, a no-nonsense lioness who resides in the apartment above. Most of the mammals who end up inside are smaller, maybe no larger than an otter, and no one has the courage – booze-addled or otherwise – to cause mischief under her supervision.

That said, it is nonetheless a place where few mammals ask too many questions, even when there are often plenty to be posed, and that is why Judy Hopps likes it so much.

Well, not likes – _prefers_. She does not consider herself a bar type anyway. Usually her only times trudging to a local watering hole are spent with Nick, who has a penchant for visiting these types of places and talking her oversized ears off about the ingredients of beer, like hops and how funny it is that she shares a last name with them, or otherwise with co-workers after trying days at the precinct.

But Pawper's is different. For starters, it lacks the embellishments of the places Nick favors, lovably dive-y rather than concerned about attracting new clientele.

Plus, while Zootopia's criminal elite were unlikely to set foot inside, their underlings tended to have much less of an issue doing so. Miss Pawper's overwhelming presence behind the bar, scanning her establishment for any signs of a conundrum, seemed to keep it that way. Troublemaker? Got a problem? Fine. Just keep your fights out of her place.

Judy only visits the place that evening since it is on the way back to her apartment from the Meadowlands anyway, plus she has brought along one of her hoodies, a gray, nondescript thing that she can use to help her blend in once inside. Miss Pawper is fully aware of her presence each time she comes inside, since she has to read the bunny's ID, but Judy has found that no one tends to question the hooded rabbit sitting at the corner of the bar, near the billiards table, mostly because there are at any point at least two others who don the almost exact same attire when she is inside. She is fairly certain the hood shape masks her facial features enough, anyway, to keep anyone from realizing that one of the police department's most storied cops is in their midst.

That is true of this evening, too, Pawper's slightly more bustling than usual but still with plenty of seating. A single weasel swivels to look at Judy as she enters through the cracked front door but seems to think nothing more of the bunny once she steps inside without hesitation, giving the aura that she has been there plenty of times before – which is, of course, true. All others either continue with their conversations or continue to sit in silence with nothing more but their glasses and bottles to keep them company.

"Evenin', Whiskers," the lioness behind the bar says with a hint of recognition; it is what Miss Pawper has taken to calling Judy each time she enters. "Gin and tonic?"

Judy nods as she clambers up onto the seat the far end of the bar from the door, the one where she has found she has the best view of the space as a whole, since the counter curves toward its end to join with the wall rather than remaining a straight piece of wood or other material its whole way down. She is not much of a gin fan, but Pawper's is not known for the fruitier drinks for which she has a predilection, and anyway, most of the bar orders gin or whiskey or some of the swill they try to pass as beer; as far as taste goes, it is the best she can do as far as fitting in.

Normally she might have headed home after leaving Nick at his mother's apartment, especially given the lateness of the evening. But even though she is off duty by then, there is still something that pulls her to the Lawson case, to Roscoe's possible reappearance, to Hyde's sudden, unexpected arrest, to Wolfie's disappearing act at Mr. Big's.

The night could end up a bust, but she figures that if there is any public establishment in the area that would have someone talking about her job's focus these last 24 hours, Pawper's is the place.

A bell affixed to the doorframe jingles every time someone enters or exits – which seems to be fairly often that evening, at least since Judy has sat down. At least two mammals have come inside after her, while a table near the entrance has since been vacated.

Sipping her drink idly, the bunny scrolls demurely through one of the social media apps on her phone, feigning disinterest even though she is quite the opposite. Though the sound inside is muffled by the hoodie constricting her ears, the brunt of her focus goes to ensuring the pleasantries and conversation around her are picked up on, at least somewhat.

And as it so often does, one word in particular piques her interest: _cops_.

Her violet eyes scan for the source, head remaining still and trained, seemingly, on her phone and drink. She is relieved to find that the word was not directed toward her, the voice belonging to an occupant who has his head huddled against a group of similarly sized animals, his back turned to her.

Judy squints, taking in the scene: four mammals, one table, everyone with either terrible posture or leaning in to try to keep their conversation as airtight as possible. Two are otters, another a ferret, all wearing similar black leather jackets with designs on them she cannot read but recognizes from past trips here. The fourth is an ermine whose white tail wags excitedly as he leans over the circular surface, and she hears the word come from him again.

Concentrating, she listens more closely, tilting her head toward the table ever so slightly.

"…'course the cops would come lookin' down there. They've been snoopin' 'round them parts for years, righ'? Any reason they get," the ferret growls with an unconcerned response.

"Sure, but they got a good one this time. Fireworks got set off over there. I tipped 'em off, anyway. That fox cop."

Judy freezes. _Nick_.

"Why'n the hell would ya do that, Sneak? Of all the things to pummel ya for…"

"No, no, _listen_ ," the ermine says through hushed tones, waving his paws as the pair of otters move to stand. "Your boy has his reasons. You know that."

"Do I?"

"C'maaahn. When was the last time I did something stupid that affected you, Jimmy? Name one." He notes the ferret's glower and backs up a bit, shaking his head. "OK. Two. Five? 10, make it 10, whole album's worth. Bet ya can't!"

"Damn that broad Pawper for not havin' a blacklist in here," groans Jimmy the ferret softly, massaging his temples with his paws. Apparently he was loud enough for the lioness, who shoots him a sneer he quickly attempts to defuse with a peace sign offered by two of the fingers on one paw.

Jimmy sighs, waving a paw defeatedly. "Aight. Get on with it, then. Why are y'out here playin' lapdog for the ZPD?"

"Because you and I and present company," he glances quickly at the two otters on either side of the table, neither of whom have spoken yet, "all know that it ain't a good look to have Roscoe Lawson back in this city, regardless of what the news is sayin'."

He leans back, still standing, and folds his arms. "Especially your boss, so I'd say."

The ferret snorts. "Maybe," he mutters. "It don't matter, though – you seen the reports, ain'tcha? Sayin' it was his brother all along. We're a hop, skip 'n' jump away from that giggly ol' flesh eater gettin' pardoned, I'll bet."

"Which is why you need the cops on his tail. Plant that seed that there's still something fishy goin' on, ya know? But they don't get all the info. Ya feel me?"

Jimmy stares at the ermine, who seems practically bursting at the seams to divulge more info, and rolls his eyes. "Fine. Don't give y'self a heart attack, Sneak. Out with it. What else is there?"

"Simple. I didn't tell that fox 'bout the –"

"Another drink, Whiskers?"

Judy has, up to this point, been paying as close attention to the conversation near her as she can, almost absentmindedly sucking down her gin and tonic in the process. Miss Pawper's query about a refill has caught her off guard as a result; she has been somewhat aware of the lioness stalking up and down the bar, occasionally leaving to gather glasses at recently empty tables, but the bunny had lost herself in the talk between Jimmy and the ermine, seemingly nicknamed Sneak, that the barkeep's voice startles her, causing her to knock over the glass in front of her.

The subsequent sound of breaking glass echoes through the tavern, which has previously been filled out by the murmurs of conversation but nonetheless at a fairly reasonable volume. Some of the closer discussions stop almost immediately, heads swiveling, necks craning at the noise as though via reflex, and they watch as the rabbit sitting at the end of the bar carefully hops off her barstool, taking care to miss the shards beneath her, to delicately attempt to pick up the pieces.

"Jeez… get it together, J—I mean, Miss Pawper, I'm sorry, you startled—" she adopts a vocal rougher than her usual voice, smokier, and she hopes it is not a giveaway.

"Happens once a day, bunny. You're the lucky winner today." The lioness reaches underneath the bar, disappearing for a moment, before resurfacing with a dustpan and broom. "Feel free to accept your prize, though."

The rabbit grins glibly as she accepts the cleaning supplies, meekly touching broom to floor and bending down to situate the dustpan. She pulls her hood, which has slipped slightly down her head but still conceals her ears at least, back snugly over her forehead and gets to work, gaze rising to scan for the ferret, ermine and two otters as she hears the din of conversation resume around her.

They are all still there, but by the time she is able to train in on their speaking voices once again, all she hears is the tail end of a sentence of which she decides she did not want to miss the beginning.

"…check it out. Tell your boss. Maybe have her come down, too. Either way, send me a holiday card when you're through, boom, we're set," she hears Sneak saying in marginally quieter tones than before.

The sound of the front door bell chiming to announce another visitor muffles the response Jimmy gives. All she can hear afterward is the ermine's quick offering of well wishes before heading back the way he had come, toward the door. She glances up as she funnels the last of the broken glass into the bin, just in time to see the ermine edging past an entering figure much larger than most of the patrons – more along the lines of Miss Pawper, in fact.

For the second time in as many minutes, a hush falls over the room once more – and Judy realizes why almost immediately.

Captain Artie Colston removes his jacket as he glances around the room, which seems to suddenly have been knocked into suspended animation except for the bar owner's continued movement behind the bar, apparently barely batting an eye at the presence of one of the ZPD's higher-ranking officers.

However, slowly but surely, talk grows once more – one of two scenarios Judy expected, given that continuing to stare at a police officer in silence was likely to draw even more attention to oneself. The other had been the possibility a mad dash toward the front door or into other outlets of escape within the bar, but that does not seem to have occurred.

Sniffing audibly, Colston walks slowly to the bar, his gray eyes concentrated through narrower slits than usual. "Evenin', Lottie," he booms finally, nodding to Miss Pawper. "You finally get some brandy in this dump?"

"You flatter me, Artie," the lioness says, returning an impious grin. "What's the magic word, then? You remember it, don't you?"

The wolf and lioness stare at each other for a few moments, and Colston returns the smile soon enough with a knowing look. Judy catches Pawper's eyes dart momentarily to Judy and then back to the wolf, with the tiniest of head tilts toward the rabbit shortly after.

Colston has barely had time to even look at the bunny before laughing gently.

"They not paying you enough, kid? Had to get a second gig?" He glances at the broom and dustpan Judy holds in her paws.

Judy's eyes dart to the expansive room behind them and then back to Colston, shaking her head slightly, mouthing the word 'no' in an attempt to keep him from blowing her cover.

He grins. "Relax," the wolf whispers as a glass of brandy appears by his paw, courtesy of the bartender. "C'mon. Sit."

Setting down the cleaning supplies against the wall next to her, Judy climbs up onto the barstool once more while Colston stands, the stools situated around the bar far too small for a mammal of his size. He crouches a bit to near her line of sight a little more.

"Guessin' you thought you were the only one who stopped by here, eh?" the wolf says after taking a swig of his drink, a drop or two falling from his muzzle and dotting the collar of his red cardigan.

"There's a reason I'm wearin' this…" the bunny whispers, glancing up at her hood, trying to contain, now that she has gotten over the initial shock of seeing him here, her excitement that one of her personal heroes on the force has had the same thought she has concerning surveillance of public watering holes.

"Yeah, well, keep doin' it," says Colston with a small nod. "They at least _know_ I stop in occasionally."

The noise inside has risen again to a level that significantly muffles their conversation; Judy finds herself relieved, the annoyance of missing out on the conversation between the ferret and ermine nearby slowly leaving her.

"What do you come for, then?" she asks.

"Same as you, I reckon. I'm hoping somebody knows about Wolfie, frankly."

The rabbit sighs, resting her chin in a paw and its corresponding elbow against the surface of the bar as Miss Pawper slides another gin and tonic into her periphery. "Me too. Among other things. You've got nothing?"

Shaking his head, the wolf downs the rest of his drink and motions to the lioness and points out his empty glass, which she takes, paw brushing against his in the process.

"Nah. Not yet. Normally I wouldn't be worried; the guy goes on these tangents sometimes, goes off the grid for a few days, comes back up with the biggest catch I've ever seen. But…" he stares at the back wall solemnly, accepting another glass of brandy, "you said there looked like a scuffle, hm?"

"Something like that. And then just… gone."

"Any other tracks in the snow leading to him? Or from?"

"None."

The wolf exhales through his snout and takes another sizable drink. "Then I'm hoping someone in here will come forward saying they heard something about it, because short of heading over to Big's place myself, I'm not sure where to head first."

They sit in silence for a few moments, each sipping at their drinks – Colston noticeably more slowly this time, rather than the larger gulps in which he had partaken at first. Judy retrains her ears on the conversation around them rather than the wolf beside her and hears the grinding of chairs pulled against a cheaply tiled floor, followed by the voice of Jimmy the ferret as he mumbles something about "getting out of here."

"Four o'clock," whispers Judy. "Know 'em?"

Colston stretches his arms behind this back, pulling until he hears a satisfying pop that sees him emit a contented grunt – and while doing so, he turns his head ever so slightly, enough to see the ferret and pair of otters leaving.

"Jimmy Fairlawn," he mutters as he watches them exit. "Lemme guess. Said or did something a little suspicious."

"You could say that. He was talking to some ermine about my partner, Nick. Something about informing the cops about Roscoe Lawson – I think he was talking about the old fire department Nick mentioned being a fireworks setoff zone, something about looking closer over there…" she trails off.

"Yeah? Interesting. Know the other guy?"

"The ermine? No. Think they called him Sneak."

"Hm." The wolf takes another swig. "Doesn't ring a bell, but your fox'll know him. Jimmy Fairlawn, though, that's a name you'll wanna remember."

Judy cocks her head but does not respond, because Colston, wiping his mouth with a paw, continues shortly afterward.

"Fairlawn. Works for a gal named Swinton. Swinton. You know that name, I'm sure."

"Cosmetics…" Judy starts.

"Bingo. And let me tell ya, if you thought Big and Lawson had a spat, wait 'til you get a load of this story."

xXxXxXx

A clinking sound awakens Nick, but it is not coming from the kitchen this time.

In fact, he has but a split second before the noise is directly beside his face, and all he can make out in his sleepy stupor and through the near-pitch black living room with nothing but his night vision that is still catching up to the rest of his lethargic brain is the glint of an object aided by the shine coming through the open window.

It is something shiny, like the sheen of metal. And it is very, very sharp.

The fox kicks once in retaliation, reflexes taking over. He connects squarely with a solid form in front of him, thankfully missing the glinting sharp object in the process but at the cost of receiving a sturdy blow to the skull from whatever he has hit.

Nick slides off the couch and onto the floor space between his seat and the coffee table, vision littered with white dots against the blackness of his mother's living room. There is a rustling noise around the room as whatever he collided with stumbles about, but he cannot quite pick up where it is fleeing toward. The front door? Toward the window? In the direction of his mother's bedroom?

 _Mom_.

Nick coughs, wiping his mouth to feel a warm liquid oozing from it; he is unsure if it is saliva or something a little less savory. Working himself to all fours, he scans the area, ears pricking as he listens for the sound of his assailant, but the first thing that comes instead is…

Brightness. Sudden, searing light.

He shields his eyes from the derisive light of the lamp situated next to the couch, sneering against its unexpected contrast. He does not notice his mom beside him until her paw grips his shoulder.

"Nicholas. Nick. Nick! What happened, what's wrong?!"

The fox blinks once, twice, a few times more. He looks up at the vixen, who kneels beside him with a look of motherly concern, eyes wandering to his dripping mouth.

There is no one else in the room.

She says something else, but Nick does not quite hear her. He has an idea, however, of what she is asking.

"Someone…" he struggles to his feet, rubbing his head, which luckily seems to have been spared a serious abrasion. "…someone came in. Someone was… was here."

He follows his mother's shocked gaze to the open window, its curtains swaying in the wind.

Nick cannot believe how stupid he was – an open window, a wide-open entrance into his home or that of a loved one while someone who might have wanted to kill him is apparently on the loose; it seems now more than ever that his concerns about Lawson's potential reappearance in Zootopia are anything but unfounded.

But then he remembers, as he throws himself at the window ledge, head peering out over the city streets below him…

They are nine floors up, and the fire escape faces a courtyard accessible only by his mom's bedroom.

"How did they get up here?" whispers Nick, looking out over the quiet, stoic streets and the expanse that stretches onward toward Downtown. "And how did they get down?"


	8. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Wilde might have gone his entire life without telling anyone how his father died. But these things, they come up sometimes. Especially when his killer may be back in Zootopia. ZNN's NaZoWriMo challenge entry!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord, I took five months to update this?
> 
> Yeah... it's been a weird few months. Mostly busy, and then when I try to shake off the rust, I've been doing it via one-shots rather than updating something like this.
> 
> Whatever. It's spring, I feel good, let's get this thing going again.

They might have worried about Chief Bogo under normal circumstances, but neither the fox nor the rabbit care too much in that moment. He is in the other room, anyway – the apartment, more specifically – and they figure they will hear the buffalo as he stomps toward the open front door, giving them ample time to separate their arms from around each other's bodies.

One could consider it cuddling, but it is a bit of a strong term, anyway. Judy Hopps rests her head against Nick Wilde's chest, immovable except for her slow, minute breathing, the rest of her body splayed out against the flower print-wallpapered hallway of the five-story apartment building with the green door. The fox's head, meanwhile, is reclined against the wall, his back lazily propped up beside it.

She came as soon as she got his text, tossing back what was left of her gin and tonic and passing some cash to Artie Colston to pay with since the barkeep was not nearby – which Colston refused and agreed to cover anyway – before excusing herself from their admittedly engrossing conversation to hop across the Meadowlands to where she had last left Nick, just a few hours before, on the outside stoop.

For his part, Nick had left out in his text most of the details about the visitor in his mother's apartment unit, about the shiny blade, the clinking noise, the sudden flight out, he assumed, the open window he had been stupid enough to keep open. It was not until Judy arrived that she heard them detailed out in front of her like a card game with many moves, all of which had their share of other little goings-on that led to that moment.

Judy sighs, her breath escaping against the fabric of Nick's undershirt, watching it ripple over the red fur beneath.

She feels a soft flick against the fur atop her head, and her ears dart up instinctively as she, too, hears the approaching footsteps. They scramble off each other, untangling limbs and smoothing out wrinkles in clothing, by the time Bogo's head pokes around the doorframe.

"Wilde. A moment?"

"How long are we talking? I'd like to get back to that beauty sleep."

Snorting, the buffalo motions inside. "Quit the wisecracking and we'll all be back in bed a lot sooner." His eyes narrow as he looks past the fox. "Hopps," he adds. "Come in too. Perhaps you can keep your partner to task."

"Permission to use brute force?" asks the rabbit with a pronounced yawn.

"Permitted."

Nick frowns as he enters his mother's apartment, clambering up to a seat at the dining room table. "Sheesh. Whole lot of talk of violence against a guy who almost got offed just now."

Bogo shuts the door behind them, settling into a crossed-arm lean against the frame, while Judy takes a seat across from the fox at the kitchen table. Nick's mother is nowhere to be found, though her bedroom door is shut, as is the living room window.

"Mrs. Wilde is back in bed," the chief starts, "and I will have officers posted in the hallway and outside the building this evening. Though it seems she may not have been the target, is that correct?"

"Whatever went bump in the night came and visited me first, that's for sure."

"And only did so once you were on the premises. From what I understand, your mother hasn't had a run-in with the law or fallen afoul of anyone who might wish to harm her."

Nick nods slowly, seeing no reason to disagree. Whatever the Wildes' life decisions in the past as a whole, his mother had always taken the road more traveled, played it safe. Someone had to.

"Wilde," the chief speaks again, his voice lower than before, perhaps remembering the slumbering fox in the other room whose apartment they have briefly commandeered. "No funny business here. Have you told me everything you know about the Lawson family?"

"…aside from what I told you and the other officers at the precinct?"

Uncrossing his arms, Bogo strides across the living room, past the seated fox and his rabbit partner, silent as she watches the conversation unfold. He pauses only once he is at the window, glancing out into the street below.

"First, I find you and Officer Hopps on the underground back doorstep of precinct one on the night when an alleged criminal announces his return to Zootopia. Then, said criminal is suddenly exonerated by a tipoff we received blaming his brother –directly after the two of you," he draws his gaze from the scene outside to glare at his two officers, "visit. The fellow officer paired with you then mysteriously vanishes while investigating this case with you.

"And _now_ ," he points a hoof at the couch on which Nick had been sleeping soundly a little over an hour prior, "I was this close to having to investigate a crime scene with an officer of mine's body laying right there on that sofa."

He paused, exhaling a long breath. "Someone seems to want you dead, Wilde, or at least harmed. And if you know the reason why that is," he shifts his gaze from Nick to Judy, " _either_ of you, then you need to tell me why right here and now, otherwise the ZPD cannot help you."

Silence overtakes the room, the lone sound a ticking clock above the couch that suddenly seems much louder and more obnoxious than Nick ever recalls it being. But Bogo seems in no hurry to break it, and for her part Judy swears to muteness as well, even though she is certain the chief has caught the fox in a lie – or a stretching of the truth, as he might put it.

Instead, she heard the very thing she knows to be false.

"I saw a guy get killed 20 years ago," Nick replies resolutely. "Nothing more."

"Maybe someone recognized him from back then," offers Judy, a train of thought entering her mind that still does not make a lick of sense to her but is better, she feels, than remaining silent.

Bogo steps away from the window, his eyes on Nick and Nick alone despite his response that is tailored toward Judy. "You're saying that they recognized some teenage fox two decades later, figured out his name and his whereabouts, and have been tracking him since?"

The rabbit swallows.

"Sure. Nick, you were all over the streets back then, weren't you?"

Stoically, the fox nods.

"Then there's a chance Lawson or one of his goons at least knew his name. Shoot, Nick, maybe your friend that was with you is in danger too," she adds, whipping around and facing him expectantly.

"I… think he moved out to the country. Foxgrove," he says, his eyes wandering for a moment to the ceiling. "I think he's fine. But you're right, Hopps. That could be…"

He is cut off by a loud grunt emitted by the buffalo, who takes to pacing once, twice, a third time in front of them, hooves stomping on the floor as much as he can seem to manage without waking Mrs. Wilde or one of her neighbors.

The third time, he makes his way to the door and then turns back toward them with a hoof massaging his forehead, barely missing the fox and bunny's exchange of anxious glances.

"I'll escort you home."

"You don't have to…" Judy starts.

"Hopps, remind me where I made an offer and not a direct order."

"But my apartment is halfway across the city –"

"Just stay the night with me, Carrots."

Two heads swivel toward Nick, who returns their expressions with a shrug. "I crash at your place all the time. What's the big deal?"

"Well, yeah…" Judy begins, about to remind him how he always insists on doing so but has always maintained some kind of excuse as to why it would not work out inversely.

"Nope," Bogo holds up a hoof. "Whatever it is, don't care. Wilde's place it is. You can sort it out when you get there. And close your windows, please."

The chief rolls his eyes, it dawning on him that two of his officers occasionally stayed the night with each other, and that he now owes money to Clawhauser because of it.

xXxXxXx

When Judy lived in Bunnyburrow, waking up to the smell of coffee was a regular occurrence, an expectation rather than a rarity. Not that she partook until she was nearly out of high school; the taste never enticed her, and even the aroma was less a satisfying sensation and more an unwelcome reminder that she had to get out of bed, regardless of her present state.

Nowadays, this was limited to the times she visited her parents, Stu Hopps putting on a few pots shortly after the crack of dawn as he had for decades, and rarely otherwise.

Though Nick's apartment was, apparently, an exception.

And she would not have minded, except...

"So, all this time..." she begins as soon as he rounds the corner into the bedroom, the rays of the early morning sun alighting his features from the tiny, fogged-out window next to the bed.

The fox freezes, clearly not having expected Judy to be awake yet but also quickly realizing that to which she refers.

"This is about the coffee, isn't it?" he cuts her off cheerily, jerking his head back toward the kitchen.

"I'd say 'smart fox,' but -"

"I dunno, I thought you'd want to wake up to the smell in your five-star accommodations."

Huffing, Judy leans up from her pillow and props herself up with her elbows, glaring at the fox. "Even though you told me you didn't have a coffee pot."

"Did I?"

"Which is the excuse you use for us buying it each morning."

"That so?"

"And that's why you're late to the bullpen half the time."

"Oh, well, that just don't do."

The rabbit rolls her eyes as she leans up further, stretching her arms over her head. The scene around the room is surprisingly clean, or cleaner than she expected Nick Wilde's bedroom to be. Originally, she thought the lateness of the evening combined with dim lighting had played tricks on her eyes.

There are still a few design choices she would not make, like the tiny television set being placed to the left of the bed rather than at its foot, or really some more interior decoration at all, since the bed is accompanied merely by a dresser on which the TV sits plus a small nightstand to her right whose only use seems to be to have different glasses of liquid spilled on it, probably in the middle of the night or in the morning when peripheral senses are not up to code yet.

But it is quaint, much like the place she moved into a year before, an upgrade over her tiny studio from when she first moved to Zootopia. Really, she is not sure why Nick never allowed her inside before then, insisting instead on meeting at her place or somewhere in the city.

Then she remembers the coffee pot, and while she is sure it is not the sole reason, she decides to pretend it is anyway, rather than dwell too long on a subject that might ruin an otherwise restful sleep.

"So, admit it."

Nick, clearly with a shower under his belt that morning judging by the still-fluffed-up fur at random places on his exposed forearms and atop his head, sits down on the edge of the bed, grinning. In this time, he has procured two mugs, each with no relation to the other – a ZPD cup from their fundraiser last winter and one containing the Bugburga logo, which Judy finds ironic given that the fast food chain has never, to her knowledge, served coffee. And even if it did, Nick would not be caught dead drinking it.

"Well," starts Nick, blowing slightly in between words onto the steaming brew, "I could tell you I just bought it, but that probably wouldn't suffice, huh?"

"Did you?"

"I… what's the right answer here?"

"Just admit you don't like making it at home and prefer it from a café," says Judy, a hint of disdain snaking beneath her voice. "Let me guess: whatever brand you bought months ago isn't very good."

"Oh, absolutely. Terrible, even."

Moments later, when she takes her first sip, Judy finds she is inclined to agree.

It is a few minutes afterward when Judy, left by Nick to get dressed for the day, emerges from the bedroom, still clutching that awful cup of coffee she is determined to finish, if only to prove the point to him that it is not so bad, even if she does not fully believe it herself.

She finds the fox already in his uniform for the day, which surprises her until she notices the clothes hanger dangling from the wall next to the living room window that now seems to hold an upcoming day's roster of casual attire.

"Makes getting dressed go a lot quicker," Nick says from the couch, noticing the direction of her glance.

"Think I just expected everything to be strewn all over the apartment, that's all," she replies, joining him.

Nick rolls his eyes, pointing to himself with both paws. "Tailor's son, Carrots. You really think I wouldn't take care of my clothes, at least?"

She sighs, taking another swig of her coffee. Nick follows. They do not mention the night before, when the two of them, exhausted, both clambered into the same bed without even thinking of the fact that they would be sharing it with the other.

Nor do they discuss the wandering arm one caught curled around the other's body in the early hours of the morning.

Glancing around for the time, Judy eventually finds a digital clock on the side table next to the couch and snorts. "Half hour until roll call. Think we'll make it?"

"Nah," says Nick with a quick shake of his head, adding a small grin. "Definitely tardy. But I think we've earned it."

xXxXxXx

Except it probably would have been better for them to arrive on time.

Nick gets the text first, a rare few-word message from Clawhauser, who is usually long-winded with his correspondences. He reads it a couple of times over before passing the phone to Judy, who stops in her tracks in the middle of the sidewalk two blocks from the station.

"Oh… oh," the rabbit sputters, Nick following her eyes as they dart back and forth over each word again and again. "Oh, cheese and crackers, that's—"

She hands Nick back his phone, or rather nearly throws it, barely paying enough mind to ensure he catches it, leaving the fox to fumble the device in his paws, very close to dropping it as she pulls out her own.

"Carrots, you better not be texting who I think you're texting…" her partner warns once he finally maintains a strong hold on his phone, sending Judy an uneasy glare.

To be fair, she is not. She knows full well that doing so would potentially become more trouble than it was worth, could even cost her a job.

Which is why she is texting Finnick instead.

"I know," she says candidly, typing the last few letters and thrusting her phone back into her pocket. "I texted Finnick."

"…I… ugh, Rabbit, I swear—"

"I'm not letting Fru Fru get caught up in this," she says with a wave of her paw, adding after a beat: "Or Judy."

Nick exhales loudly through his nose, crossing his arms. "Yeah, but if they trace it back to you…"

"They won't. Finnick is discreet. You know that. And he knows the secret back way in and out."

Smacking a paw to his face, Nick lets it run slowly down the length of his snout and cheek, tugging on the fur beneath his eyelid. She hears him groan, and fleetingly she thinks that maybe her decision was not totally sound, but she swallows it down.

She would not let Mr. Big's family get caught up in his mess.

"What'd you tell him?" Nick asks eventually, his voice lower than before, not defeated but closer to it.

"Asked if he was going to see Fru today. Y'know, since they're friends now and all."

"Which still shocks me to no end. That fox barely likes _me_."

"Surprised me too. But he and I agreed on a message like this, just in case something ever happened and we needed to get her out of there. You know… this sort of thing."

Nick clicks his tongue. "You mean Big would get caught up in something shady, like a kidnapping? What's this world coming to?"

"I just wish I'd seen it sooner," groans Judy, turning back toward the precinct. "Bogo'll probably say the same thing."

"You're right. C'mon, Hopps, let's go get our 40 lashes."

But if Chief Bogo has any mind to punish his two smallest officers for lacking such due diligence the previous day, he does not seem to feel that it needs to happen just yet. The buffalo is waiting for both Judy and Nick when they arrive at the front door of the station, leaning against the dispatch desk with Clawhauser, though he appears uninterested in making any sort of small talk with the cheetah, who shoots the bunny and fox a look of concern when they entered.

Instead, Bogo silently motions to the bullpen, and after exchanging an apprehensive glance, the pair obliges, following the buffalo inside.

"Remember," mutters Nick through gritted teeth, emitting as soft a vocal as he can muster as they near the door, "Ben did us a favor by texting me. We don't actually _know_ what's coming, as far as Bogo knows."

Judy nods, steeling herself internally with a deep breath, clenching her paws into fists. She does not appreciate the ambush she knew was coming, though she understands why it had to be done.

The air is dense inside the bullpen, the room quiet but the mood anticipatory. Captain Artie Colston is there, leaning against the window at the other side of the room, giving Judy a quick nod when their eyes meet. With all that had happened in the previous 12 hours or so, she has almost completely forgotten their conversation the night before at Pawper's, or the insight he gave her that she had planned to use with Nick that day. She realizes she has not even shared the information with her partner yet, not about the Swintons, Sneak's meeting or anything of the sort.

It has been a rough few hours.

Bogo and Colston are joined by a few other officers, some of them from the first precinct and others Judy still does not quite recognize, though she has seen a few of them around the station the previous few days. Still, some are missing – like Francine, for instance, and Fangmeyer as well. Judy also does not see Captain Geoffers, who has had Bogo's ear for much of the week, quite the visible presence around the office, and Colston's closest officer, Tigoro, is also absent.

"Whose funeral is it?" Nick breaks the silence, shutting the door behind them and hoping the answer to his question is not too unpleasant.

Luckily, if Bogo has any mind to scold either officer, he is cut off by Colston, who reveals that which they already know.

"We found Wolfie, we think," the wolf growls, folding his arms across his chest. "Got a tipoff that Big has him. Geoffers and Tigoro are en route leading a welcoming party as we speak."

The words that have been on the tip of Judy's tongue ever since she first read the news from Clawhauser finally leave her mouth: "Why would Big want Wolfie, or any officer of the ZPD, for that matter?"

Bogo struts from the podium at the front of the bullpen, walking slowly until he towers above Nick and Judy, his expression irresolute.

"That," he booms, "is what we're hoping the two of you can tell us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels good to be getting going on this one again. Cool things coming, I swear. 
> 
> Thanks for reading in the meantime! I really appreciate it.


	9. Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Wilde might have gone his entire life without telling anyone how his father died. But these things, they come up sometimes. Especially when his killer may be back in Zootopia.

"Chief, even you have to admit this isn't like Big!"

If Chief Bogo considers Judy Hopps' plea for even a moment, he quickly disregards it, slamming a hoof onto the podium behind which he stands. The noise startles Judy, and Nick Wilde too, to some extent. The more seasoned officers of precinct one, as well as the visitors from other stations, meanwhile, barely flinch.

"Hopps, I don't care. If Geoffers finds a ZPD officer in the basement of a crime boss against his will, then there is little room to waltz in and have an espresso with the guy while asking him why our officer's there, I think you can agree," growls the buffalo, glowering at the rabbit, who stands firm in front of him even as each of her statements are conclusively turned down.

Judy frowns, placing her paws on her hips. She is not ready to go down without a fight just yet, even if the possible excuses are dwindling within her mind. And truly, it is not as though she _wants_ to defend Mr. Big, who, despite his decent treatment of the bunny, remains one of the most dangerous mammals on the streets of Zootopia.

The reasoning just does not add up to her.

"Officer Hopps, you and I both know about the Big family's… disagreements with the Lawsons over the years," Artie Colston chimes in from by the window. It is one of the only times he has spoken since Judy and Nick entered for Bogo and company to glean as much information from the pair as they can – if the tipoff is indeed true. "When you visited the compound yesterday, when Wolfie disappeared, did he… did Big say anything that might have indicated this?"

"He didn't tell us a whole lot," Nick pipes up suddenly.

Judy whirls around to face her partner, who glances at her only momentarily before training his gaze back on Colston, then to Bogo. He opens his mouth once, closes it again, and, after considering it with a thoughtful look, decides at long last to continue.

"So… when we went to Big's place, he told as all about all the noise between the Lawson and Big families over the years," says the fox, speaking slowly as though choosing his words delicately. "And he mentioned being the informant years ago when Roscoe was arrested, too. But then he just… stopped." He turns to Judy. "What'd he say, Hopps? 'I'm afraid I can't help you more,' something about only choosing to tell us what he told us? And then came the news report.…"

There is silence again in the room; Judy looks down at the floor, searching for answers within the chipped cracks of the tiles of the bullpen, while Nick walks past her toward Bogo. He brushes a paw lightly against her back as he does so.

"So, what are you saying, Wilde?" grunts Bogo.

"I'm not sure _what_ I'm saying, sir. All I know is that Big didn't seem to tell us the entire story, at least not anything present tense."

"This overcomplicates things, though," Colston says, his head turned to look out the window. "For all of us. Now we've got Big involved somehow, too? It would have made more sense for one of the Lawsons to kidnap Wolfie while he was over there, and even that wouldn't add up."

He pauses, his back now turned fully away from Nick, Judy, Bogo and everyone else in the room. "Unless…"

Bogo allows Colston a few bars of silence, before: "All right, Captain, out with it."

Instead, the arctic wolf offers one finger, meant to hush, still facing the sight outside, which Judy knows he is not doing for the view, since it faces the precinct parking lot followed by the worn brick siding of one of the municipal buildings.

"Collateral."

Bogo cocks his head to one side. "You think…?"

Colston finally turns back to the rest of the room. His expression remains puzzled, inquisitive, thoughtful. But, with a short nod, he confirms his suspicion.

"Look, all this... doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me. Roscoe Lawson was the _guy_ back in the day, the wild child, the hyena who dabbled too much in some dark stuff, not Hyde. I was sure of it. But if I was wrong, and Hyde was behind everything all along…"

His gaze finding Nick, he kneels down on one leg, putting him near eye level with the fox. "What'd you say? That Big was the informant on Roscoe way back when?"

Nick nods once. "That's what he told Ca—Hopps and me."

"Hm." Colston straightens back to his full height. "So let's suppose this." He begins pacing, eventually making his way to the center of the room with delicate steps. "Suppose Big was involved in this years ago – I don't know to what extent, maybe he was part of the meat trade, maybe not. But let's say Hyde wants Roscoe knocked off – again, I don't know why here, though Roscoe was always the more… public of the two, the visible socialite, the one Page Six wrote about, the heir to the company."

"Jealousy," chimes in Delgato.

"Sure. Jealousy. Maybe that. Either way, Big's in on it, frames Roscoe. Except that something that could implicate him if all this comes to light again, something – geez, I dunno, maybe it's in those documents we found at Hyde's place, maybe something else."

The wolf makes his way back to the front of the room, flanking Bogo. His arms are set behind his back, paws clasped. He turns toward the rest of the room, which is watching intensely – even Judy, whose mind cascades over Colston's proposed theory against the notions about the case she already held, about Hyde Lawson, about Mr. Big.

"Whatever it might have been," Colston continues, his voice suddenly lighter, as though he is on the verge of finally solving some long-fussed-over crossword puzzle because the right word has finally come to mind, "Big's scared. And he knows we're coming for him. So he's taking one of our own in the hope that if and when we do find out, he's got something on us."

"And if we hadn't caught on?" asks a rhino from precinct three in the back of the room.

"Then when everything blew over and he'd found himself still happy-go-lucky, he'd let Wolfie go. I'm sure the guy has no idea where he is right now. I bet you they'd knock him out again, drag him somewhere random in the city, set him free. Big won't want to let go if his empire if he doesn't have to."

"Knock him out again?" Judy repeats, catching Colston's eye.

He shrugs. "I mean, sure, I'd assume that's how they got him to begin with."

By now, the bunny has retreated back into her own thoughts, barely aware of Nick beside her, the fox, she assumes, working through the details himself. Colston's story seems to make at least some sense on paper; at the very least, she cannot dismiss it as some crackpot theory. But there is something that pops into her head shortly after, and Nick catches it before she does.

"What about what I saw?" the fox says.

The arctic wolf in front of him, eyes slightly narrowed, cocks his head. "What? Your attack last night?"

"No," Nick shakes his head. "Nononono." He glances at Bogo, then back to Colston. "When I was a kit. When I saw Lawson kill that… that guy."

The air seems to deflate from Colston, who rubs his brow with a paw; Judy spots the wrinkles beneath his white fur.

"That's a good point," the Icewolf intones, still massaging his forehead. "Damn. You're right. That's right."

Bogo turns his attention to Nick. "Wilde, you're sure it was Roscoe and not Hyde? Completely, utterly sure? Think back."

If Nick has to consider the possibility at all, it does not take him long to steel himself. "I didn't get a crystal clear image of him," says Nick. "I wasn't right next to him, you know? There's this spot pattern on the bridge of their noses, though, and they're just a little different. And anyway, I know what he said, and what he said was Roscoe Lawson's name. And I didn't forget that voice, not one bit."

The door to the bullpen swings open. It is Clawhauser, who has been manning the dispatch desk. He seems out of breath, probably having sprinted the entire distance.

"Chief," he wheezes, bracing himself against the doorframe. "…captains. I just got word from… from Captain Geoffers."

Bogo taps a hoof against the podium once. "Yes? Yes, Clawhauser, what is it?"

"…they found Wolfie," continues the cheetah at a laborious pace; Judy is not so sure it is just from fatigue but also shock at the news. "Big's basement… just like we heard. Mr. Big's in custody as we speak."

xXxXxXx

"How you doin', Wilde?"

Nick jumps a bit at the question, not because of its implications by any means, but because he was not expecting another voice in the parlor of the Big estate. It is not a secluded spot in the home, but it does take a bit of a hike to reach – up some stair, around a corner and around another one. And he is not aware of anyone else having come upstairs for any reason, anyway; the real show is in the basement.

But there is Fangmeyer anyway, the tiger's tall, bulky frame ducking underneath the door to enter, albeit slowly; she seems to have realized that she startled the fox.

"I… uh, hey, Fangs," Nick responds after a swallow, turning from the green, leather-cushioned couch he has been standing beside, his mind having caught in an endless loop of deciding whether or not it wanted to sit down, causing his thoughts to wander far outside the confines of the Big compound. "…repeat the question?"

The tigress takes care to walk lightly across the red-carpeted room, pausing at its center as she glances over the many trophies and heirlooms that line its walls. Sighing, she rests her paws behind her back, turning in place with soft movements.

"Quite the collection of… stuff in here," she remarks with a chuckle. "How much do you actually think was his?"

"Are you implying that the Big family ever stole a thing in its life? Well, I'll be…"

"Hm," Fangmeyer grunts, settling on one case in particular, one with mahogany wood and ornate windowed doors that contains what looks like a small jewel-encrusted sword and a goblet-like cup affixed to a tiny plaque. "This one's got his name on it, though." She walks over to the case, pressing a paw against the glass. "Something about a fencing victory 20 years ago. Same question, think he won it?"

Nick shrugs. "Won, yeah. Fairly? Eh."

"Probably right. Cash under the table, throwing matches." She, too, shrugs. "Not much has changed. Heard the city judo champion might've had a little… financial help." Eyes narrow. "That's my lead, by the way. Not a word."

"You underestimate my sense of ethics. Anyway, what brings you up here?"

Taking a seat on the couch beside which Nick still stands, the chair seemingly for Big's polar bear guards and therefore enough to support her weight or allow her to fit at all, Fangmeyer smirks, her gaze softened but not lacking its usual toughened solemnity.

"You seem beat, Wilde. Distracted. And while everyone else went downstairs… you came up here. What's—"

She is cut off by Nick's prolonged sigh was he wrenches himself up onto the couch, leaning his back against the side cushion, facing the tigress with his legs reclined out in front of him. "Well, doc, let me tell you about my dreams, first. Since our last visit, I've started seeing nothing but sheep in 'em. And I just can't stop counting. One, two, three…"

"Goodness, Hopps is right. You really are incapable of having a serious conversation with anyone."

The fox cannot help but smile, in no way shocked that Judy would say such a thing to someone else on the force. He was probably even in the room when she said it.

"Guess I just figured this might be a lot," she continues, shrugging off his non-answer. "The stuff last night, Chief and Colston grilling you on the Lawsons, being here now. Wouldn't wish this kind of mental stress on anyone."

She winks. "Though if anyone can handle it, I guess it's the guy who internalizes everything, huh?"

"All right, now you're trying too hard," Nick says with an eye roll.

"Well, except for whatever's suddenly going on between you and Hopps. That's way more obvious."

"Iiiiiiii… wait, what?"

Fangmeyer has already stood by the time Nick finishes his question, turned back toward the door. "Shush," she utters over her shoulder. "It's way more obvious than you two think it is. Plus you smell more like each other than normal."

The tigress snickers lightly as she ducks back under the doorway. "C'mon down. You probably want to hear the briefing."

It is an additional few minutes before Nick follows her downstairs, sliding the slip of paper he had been looking for into his pocket.

xXxXxXx

"—Big went without a fight, and I think his guards did too, once they saw how he didn't struggle," Captain Geoffers concludes, taking a long sip of water once he is done. "Let's hold any further questions until we're back at the station and roll out."

The giraffe is tailed out of the room by Colston and Tigoro, the tiger whispering something beneath his breath to the wolf as they depart, followed by a slew of other officers, most of whom had been part of the initial assault on Mr. Big's home.

Judy begins to follow, but stops when she finds Nick pushing his way upstream, past the officers much taller than he. Their eyes meet eventually, Nick sending her a small, toothy smile as he edges past one final hippo, fretting over the creases in his uniform and smoothing them out as he meets her in the middle of the room.

"I missed the beginning," he says with a flippant wave. "Catch me up?"

"I mean, you pretty much got the gist. Wolfie was tied up down here. Had no memory of getting here. His only tipoff was the slightest smell of polar bear fur, but he didn't make the connection."

"Uh huh. So he's back at the station, and Big and his guards are locked up somewhere in the city, alongside Hyde Lawson. This day sure took a turn."

Judy shrugs. "A little bit." She glances around her partner, noting the final officer leaving the room behind him. Her voice lowers in volume when she speaks again. "But… no Fru Fru."

"Ah!" whispers Nick with a nod. "Finnick came through."

"I guess so. Only one way to find out: we take a trip to the Rainforest District this afternoon."

"Safe house?" mouths the fox. She nods.

Nick averts his gaze to his side, as though he would be able to see the doorway to the cell with his peripheral vision. "Just gotta get Chief to let us have free reign. 'Cause I've got another place we need to hit up."

"The old firehouse?"

"Bingo." He glances back into her violet eyes.

"Let me guess. You're still not buying this either, are you?" the bunny asks, paws resting against her hips.

Shrugging, Nick forces a smirk. "Like I said, Carrots, Roscoe Lawson killed my dad, not Hyde. Even if he's totally innocent on the meat-trade front, there's more to this than that. And let's not forget my little… mishap at Mom's."

"Well, good. 'Cause I'm not either. Plus, I found something."

Nick's features light up against the dull lightbulb that illuminates the darkened cell. "Oh? Fluff sniffed something else out?"

"Literally," the rabbit says with a small grin. "Bet you will be able to too. Come here."

She leads him to a corner of the cell, one where the light afforded by the lightbulb by the door can barely reach at all. Nick realizes that this was where Judy had been standing during Geoffers' debriefing.

"OK, kneel down a bit. Get on my level."

The fox obliges, resting one knee on the ground. It is cold against the cloth of his uniform, with little bumps and burrows noticeable through his pants leg as though the ground suffers from an uneven cement pour.

By this time he is down there, a scent that had previously snaked into the back of his mind but not prominently enough to really register a coherent thought within his brain suddenly shoots to its forefront.

"It's like… bleach?"

Judy nods eagerly. "Sorta. Same idea. Maybe not as heavy-duty, but it gets the job done."

"Well, maybe they didn't want Wolfie to get the usual musk of this place. Cold, clammy… smells a little wet, too," he notes after a sniff.

"Or…"

Judy beckons him lower to the ground, specifically near the corner of the room.

"Try here. I think they missed a spot."

Lowering his snout to the spot, Nick takes in one deep breath through his nostrils, closing his eyes to allow his sense of smell to reign supreme.

His eyes shoot right back open.

 _Rose_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than I wanted to go, but I liked the way the chapter looked when it ended here rather than the next scene.
> 
> Which means I have a good chunk of chapter 10 already written. Will be back sooner rather than later!
> 
> In the meantime... ayyyy, rose, like chapter one. Bringin' it back like Lil Boat.
> 
> THANKS FOR READING. Seriously. I can't express my appreciation enough.


End file.
